


How Steep The Fall

by baar_ur



Category: Shannara Series - Terry Brooks, The Shannara Chronicles (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Epic, F/M, Gen, Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-05-21 07:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6044035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baar_ur/pseuds/baar_ur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allanon is not the last of the Druids. Beneath the palace at Arborlon lies a Forgotten Druid, and her return may make all the difference in the world... at least to the quest to save the Ellcrys.</p><p>5% book, 45% show, 50% completely made up. Title from the Jose Gonzales song All You Deliver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How Long the Way Back

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter opens during the third episode, Fury, between the group's return to Arborlon and Amberle's return to the Ellcrys Sanctuary.

Wil flops into the chair opposite Allanon with a deep sigh, throwing his legs over one of the armrests. The Druid glances up from the Codex before him with a raised eyebrow, and Wil hastily rearranges himself into a more polite configuration.

“We must have looked at every map the Royal Librarians have ever collected,” Amberle says as she follows the half-Elf into the room. She rubs at her forehead, leaving behind a smear of dust. “None of them say anything about a place called Safehold.”

“And the Council?” Allanon asks.

Wil throws his hands up. “Still deciding if they want to let Amberle into the Sanctuary or not! You know, not like the fate of the world depends on it.”

“Have you found anything in the Codex?” Amberle asks hopefully.

“Nothing.” Allanon shuts the book with a definitive _thud_. “None of the combinations I recall reveal so much as an ancient road map.”

“Combinations?” Wil leans forward, curious.

“The Codex contains more than two hundred different versions, all dependent on how it is unlocked.” The Druid taps one of the smooth silver knobs on the cover.

“It would take too long to try each one, wouldn’t it?” Amberle guesses.

The Druid nods. “And some of them are cursed, to prevent exactly that.”

“Cursed,” Wil says. “Of course.”

“If I had an artifact from another Druid…” Allanon sighs, reaching to rub the back of his neck.

At the mention of another Druid, the princess sits up straighter. Beside her, Wil shakes his head. “How would that help?”

He gestures vaguely. “Every Druid was taught different combinations according to their specialties. With an artifact of theirs, I could work to recover something from their memories.”

“I can do one better than that,” Amberle says, all but jumping out of her seat. “At least I can do something,” she adds on her way out of the room.

 

Torchlight flickers off the white marble walls as Wil and Allanon follow the princess deeper below the elven palace. “Grandfather showed me this place when I was small, and told me never to disturb it,” Amberle says.

“Which means you know the way by heart,” Wil mutters.

“I visited occasionally! I didn’t disturb anything!” Amberle flicks her hair over her shoulder. “Anyway, it was discovered a few years after the war. It must have been sealed by magic; it just appeared one day.” She stops before a doorway carved with runes. “It’s-”

“A Druid burial chamber,” Allanon breathes. He raises the torch higher and steps forward to examine the door. Carved from the same white marble that lines the walls, the runes seem to float, black against a red-orange background. “This was made before the fall of Paranor.”

“That’s how long again?” Wil asks.

“Three hundred years,” Amberle says.

Allanon ignores them and lays a gloved hand on the door. “ _E nol shadhas._ ” After a second, he pulls back and gives the door a stern glare. “That’s unusual.”

“Is it cursed?” Wil asks with a hint of exasperation.

“No.” There’s a notable undercurrent of surprise in Allanon’s reply. “It’s not even locked.”

“Of course not.” Amberle ducks under the Druid’s outstretched arm and pushes the door open. “I told you, I visit every once in a while.”

The chamber beyond is small, at least compared to the standard of Arborlon’s palace, circular and domed with a diameter of two men’s height. Nooks are carved into the walls, tall enough for coffins to be set on end, but all except the one opposite the door stand empty. Across the room, one of the alcoves is sealed with stone and labeled with runes.

“I worked for months to figure out what it said. I could only ever translate the first line, though.” Amberle gestures at the sealed tomb and reads: “The druid Kira of Paranor.”

Allanon nods. “A mapmaker. She left Arborlon to explore the Breakline shortly before the Second War of the Races, and never returned. She believed the Warlock Lord would summon demonic forces from the north.” He steps forward to brush dust from the tomb’s inscription.

“Did you know her?” Wil asks softly.

“Not well,” the Druid replies, distracted by the runes. “She was… something of a lone wolf.” He wipes a cobweb away with his sleeve and shakes his head at what he reads. “That’s not possible. Why would…”

“What is it?” Amberle leans around his shoulder to puzzle at the writing.

“Stand away.” Allanon nudges the princess back with one hand and lays the other on the stone. “ _E yad an zhochasa_ ,” he commands. The words reverberate through the chamber with magical power. For a second, there is no effect. Then, with a faint grinding noise, the stone splits along an invisible seam and sinks away into hidden recesses.

Amberle shrieks in surprise at the dark form that tumbles out of the tomb. Wil jumps back, throwing an arm out to protect her. Allanon ignores both of them, lowering the body to the floor with care.

“Wil, bring the torch closer,” he orders.

The half-Elf obeys, stepping forward. “Do Druids not rot, or something?” he asks as the light falls on Kira of Paranor’s face. She is a slight, pale human, unblemished by the passing of time, with long red hair that lays in curls on the marble floor.

“Oh, we do,” Allanon says, with an expression that could almost be a smile. “But she is not dead.”


	2. Distorted Pictures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized several days after writing this that Bandon's Seer talent wasn't discovered until mid-Changeling, but it's such an integral part of the chapter that I couldn't throw it out. Do me a favor and pretend Allanon realized it from the beginning, ok?

Bandon peeks around the corner into the crypt. Allanon’s already looking in his direction, not quite glowering out of a lopsided circle of candles. Heard him coming, obviously. Bandon’s used to sneaking around farmland, not palaces.

“The Council hasn’t voted yet, and the lady Druid isn’t awake. But Amberle said you’ve been down here all night,” he says as an introduction. “You missed dinner and breakfast, so I-”

Allanon raises a hand to quiet him as he lifts the small sack of food he wheedled out of Catania. “I don’t need to eat. But I could use your help.”

“Okay?” Bandon tucks the sack into an inconspicuous spot beside the doorway- if Allanon doesn’t want it, he’ll eat it later- before he approaches.

“I’ve gathered all I can from what is here,” Allanon says as Bandon steps into the circle of candlelight. “You may be able to learn more.”

“What have you figured out?” The boy tucks his legs up as he sits down, within arms’ reach but far enough that a smack will lose most of its strength in the distance. Allanon gives him a knowing look before he speaks.

“The epitaph seems to have been added after the burial.” He gestures at the marble slab, removed from the crypt wall and laid on the floor. “The information is vague, second-hand. Written by someone who knew _of_ her.” He reaches down to tap a set of runes at the foot of the stone. “This is more interesting.”

“What is it?” Bandon leans forward to study the runes. There’s a dark, flaky residue in the depths of the engraved letters. “Is that blood?”

Allanon nods. “Used to power a corrupted Druid’s spell.”

“So she’s-” Bandon jerks back to stare at Allanon.

“No. The runes form a spell to force a Druid into the long sleep we use to heal, or weather the ages. If she meant to enter Druid Sleep, she would not need these.” He taps the runes again. “Someone else trapped her here.”

“And you want me to find out who.” Bandon bites back a sigh. Of course Allanon wants him to use the Sight; there’s no other way he’s useful to the Druid.

“If you can.” Allanon looks him over appraisingly. “If you don’t wish to, you can refuse. But you could use practice.”

_Practice makes perfect_. Bandon resists the urge to pull a face. “All right. What do I do?”

Allanon gestures at the bloody runes. “There should be enough connection for you to See.”

Bandon swallows his hesitance and lays his hand on the stone.

_Darkness, threat of war, both loom over them. Twisting stairs as he shows her the way-_

_“Something important, vitally important.”_

_She doesn’t scream or shrink back when he shows his new form, true form; she snarls and grasps a shimmering silver-steel spear with both hands. But not even that can stop him, too large, too powerful now-_

_Kira does scream as he closes the stone over her, begging and sobbing-_

_“Thoran, don’t, please don’t! We can stop this, I can bring you back, Thoran please!”_

_He can hear her fists pounding against the marble as he slices his hand and smears the cut over the runes. They glimmer once and fade, just as Kira’s fighting fades, one stifled sob and then silence._

_A demon army with corrupted Druids for officers, Skull-Bearers the mortals call them, Thoran Skull-Bearer Spine-Breaker Scar-Maker. He thinks of Kira as he dies on a distant field; she was going to be his prize when he won, when he won, when he…_

“That’s enough,” Allanon says, almost gently, as he peels Bandon’s hand away from the stone. “What did you see?”

He presses a hand to his side first, to check that no matter how much it feels like it, he isn’t actually bleeding out from a wound inflicted by an elven sword. The sensation fades slowly as he rubs the spot. “The other Druid tricked her. I think they were friends, before the war, but he was corrupted. He wanted to protect her, in a- a twisted way.” Bandon shakes his head. “He thought he’d come back and corrupt her, too, but he died.”

Allanon nods to himself. Bandon can almost see the thoughts whizzing around in his head. “You did well, boy,” he says after a moment. “I’m proud of you.”

Bandon just blinks at the Druid as he stands and stretches. _Proud?_ Of _him_? That’s- that’s ridiculous! He’s a freak, a monster, a-

Allanon pats the top of his head on his way out of the crypt, too quickly for a connection to form and Bandon to have a real, full-fledged vision. But he gets a sense-

He’s a Druid in training.

“Allanon, there you are.” Wil’s voice echoes into the chamber from the hall. “I’ve been looking for you all over. She’s awake.”

 

A bedchamber off an Elven garden, full of birdsong and the scent of flowers. A nice place to wake from Druid sleep; nicer than a freezing mountain, anyway.

“She’s in the garden,” the princess’s little blonde servant says, moving to show Allanon the way. “The doctors said she shouldn’t be up, but she wouldn’t listen-” Of course. A proper Druid obeisance is more important than doctor’s orders.

The maidservant’s chatter finally ceases when he steps into the small terrace. A lovely young oak dominates the space, not old enough to bear acorns but with a healthy green canopy that shades the area. The girl- _Kira_ , he reminds himself, _youngest of the Forgotten Druids_ \- is seated among the roots, the hem of her pale brown shift stained by grass. She doesn’t look away from the tree until he’s almost upon her.

“Allanon,” she says, and smiles. “ _If anyone would come to my rescue, it would be you._ ” She cocks her head as he sits beside her, and the tail of her red hair slips from her bare shoulder. “ _You’ve grown older_.”

“ _I thank you for the compliment_ ,” he says sardonically, speaking in Noalath as she does.

“ _Did I miss so much of the war?_ ” Kira glances at the doorway where the servant girl had hovered, now empty. “ _There seems to be peace._ ”

“ _Not for long._ ” He sighs, deciding quickly how much to tell her. “ _I understand a friend trapped you below the palace before you left for the Breakline?”_

She shakes her head. “ _Thoran found me there and insisted I return. He claimed Paranor had fallen. I should have known better than to believe him-_ ”

“ _Paranor was destroyed, by Skull-Bearers and the Warlock Lord’s forces._ ”

“ _No. No, never_ -” The little color there is in Kira’s face drains away. “ _You lie!_ ”

“ _Thoran died in battle, and no one knew to release you. You slept three hundred years._ ”

“ _Impossible! I cannot have-_ ” She buries her face in her hands, shoulders hitching with a sob.

A clatter from the doorway draws Allanon’s attention away from the other Druid. Amberle, with two members of the Black Watch at her back, glares at him thunderously. Here to scold him about Elven guest-right, most likely. A stony glare of his own is enough to keep her at bay, at least for now.

“ _Everyone is gone,_ ” Kira says in a voice that shakes. “ _I thought I could not sense them because I had not recovered, not because-_ ”

“ _There is still the two of us_ ,” Allanon interrupts, speaking as gently as he can. He doesn’t expect Kira to lean into him suddenly, sobbing against his chest. From the glimpse he catches of the princess, she hadn’t expected that, either. “Go away,” he mouths over Kira’s head. Miraculously, Amberle obeys.

“ _I should have known better,_ ” Kira sobs. “ _I should never have abandoned my mission._ ”

“ _The war was won without you_ ,” Allanon says, and bites back a wince. Not the best reassurance he’s ever given. “ _It is good that you are restored. A new enemy has come, and we need you._ ” That’s more like it. He’s always been better at calls to action.

Kira sits back on her heels, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her palm. “ _Tell me what I can do_.”

He reaches into one of his pockets, drawing out the short rod he took from the crypt. The crystal grip is lighter-colored than the hilt of his sword, more smoky quartz than obsidian. “ _You can fight_ ,” Allanon says as he offers it up.

“ _At your side?_ ” Kira takes the haft without hesitance. She flips it in her hands before gripping it tight, activating the magic within and stretching it into a glittering spear with a wickedly sharp head. “ _You only need ask._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ao3, why you gotta be so fussy about italics?
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'm on tumblr as baar-ur if you'd like to send me a message.


	3. U Zhal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "u zhal" - Noalath, "to heal".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something of a filler chapter, character establishment, et cetera. We're going to get into the events of Changeling soon, so things will get exciting.

“Oh, no,” Kira says. “Please don’t do that.”

Allanon resists the urge to cover his eyes and/or sigh in exasperation.

“That is very much not needed,” Kira insists. He can hear some shuffling steps before the female Druid peeks out from behind the dressing screen in the corner of the guest room. “ _I heard that,_ ” she says in Noalath, “ _and agree with you thoroughly_.”

“I said nothing,” Allanon says. It’s clear she was informed of his emotions by her Druid intuition, but he still feels the need to protest. He doesn’t give opinions unless they’re necessary.

“I heard it anyway,” Kira retorts, before vanishing behind the screen with a squeak.

“This would go much faster if you would help,” Amberle growls, insofar as an elven princess can growl.

“I have no idea what you’re doing!” Kira yelps. “The last time I wore something other than deerskins was three hundred years ago, and fashions were very different!”

Allanon covers his eyes and sighs in exasperation.

After a long moment of fabric rustlings, broken only once by a half-hearted protest (“I don’t see what was wrong with what I wore before”) and its answer (“It was a night-shirt!”), the clatter of the screen announces the princess and her serving-girl are done playing dress-up. Kira looks mildly harassed, but admittedly better-suited to the palace, in a high-necked gown of dark green wool. She looks down with a sigh at Catania, crouched to straighten the sash and overskirt of pale green cotton. “Please,” Kira says. “Please stop fussing.”

Amberle crosses her arms and looks over her work with visible pride. “Much better,” she announces. “Now, no one will mistake you for some laborer who wandered in.”

Kira snatches the grip of her spear off the nearby dresser and walks away quickly. “ _I doubt I could have failed to made them regret it_ ,” she mutters.

“She thanks you,” Allanon says, pretending to translate. “But we have work to do.”

“ _You are a talented liar_.” Kira tucks her hilt into her sash as she strides past him.

With the advantage of height, Allanon doesn’t need to hurry to catch up. “ _And you are not?_ ” he asks teasingly.

“ _I try to be._ ”

“ _Come, this way._ ”

Kira follows him from one gleaming corridor to another, down a flight of stairs and around a small atrium. Amberle made a genuine point; the few glances of attention the Druids garner seem to be directed more to their round ears or Allanon’s somewhat dusty leathers.

It takes a few minutes to reach the workshop Allanon has laid claim to, tucked in one of the far recesses of the palace as it is. It was a gardener’s workroom once, to judge by the flowering planter boxes that cover several of the tables, and a long-unused one, to judge by the layer of dust that still hangs about in corners. Kira breaks away from Allanon’s side for the first time since they left the princess in favor of examining one of the planter boxes.

“Mountain-daisy,” she says, cupping one of the deep yellow flowers. “Ready for harvest. And the summerwort.” She smiles as she picks dry leaves from the small shrub.

“We have other duties to attend to,” Allanon says with only a little reproach. Kira plucks one of the small yellow summerwort blossoms and tucks it behind her ear before she joins Allanon at the clearest table. He opens the Codex to the Ellcrys’ page and sets it before her. “The Ellcrys is dying-”

“No.” Kira puts a hand on the book, preventing him from turning the page. “I mean- yes, obviously. I imagine I could sense it halfway across the Four Lands. That is not what I need to know.”

Allanon raises an eyebrow. “Then what?”

“How-” She stops, biting her lip. When she continues, it is with a tremor in her voice. “How did Paranor fall? Did anyone…”

“Few would heed Bremen,” Allanon says. “The rest were betrayed, and taken by surprise. A handful survived. They have passed on in the years since. Another handful could not be found- _Leadrik_ _Arenáichazh_ , we called them.”

“Forgotten Druids?” Kira repeats. She covers her mouth with her hand, but not before Allanon sees the way her lips tremble. “And I was one.”

“In the hope the Warlock Lord did not remember them.” Allanon crosses his arms uncomfortably as Kira looks away. “The young king, Shannara, destroyed his body but not his spirit. He returned thirty years past, attempted another war and failed. A descendant of the Shannara line killed him.”

Kira nods, setting her jaw before she turns back to him. “Only thirty years ago? Could he have weakened the Ellcrys?”

“It may be so. In any case, as the Ellcrys dies…” He gestures to draw Kira’s attention back to the Codex.

“The Dagda Mor’s chains loosen.” She flicks the page over and studies it. “The seed must go to Safehold, it says. Do you know it?”

“I know of it,” Allanon grumbles.

Kira gives him a smile as she closes the tome. “I visited a few times. I might be able to take you by memory, but a map would be better.” She twists the knobs, adjusting one to the right, another to the left. “Who will come with us?”

“Why do you assume you will come?” He reaches for the book.

She snatches it away from his grasp. “Because I will not give you the map otherwise! I have been _Leadrik_ _Arenáichazh_ once; I will not be again!”

The display of defiance is almost amusing. Charming, certainly. Allanon has not been a figure so familiar as to be openly defied in centuries. Not that he is so poorly trained as to let it show on his face, of course. “The demons will come from the north, as you predicted,” he says. “You could remain here and protect Arborlon.”

“The last of my kind is more precious to me than any city!” Kira snarls. A second passes, silent but for the rustle of leaves, before she realizes what she has said. “I should not- I-” She sets the Codex back on the table. “The map is yours, Allanon. Do as you will.”

“I would welcome your aid,” he says gently. “I only wished you to know that there are alternatives.”

“The last time-” Kira takes a deep breath. “The last time I was separated from my people, I lost them. All of them. I would not have that happen again.”

“Very well.” He opens the Codex to its first page, now labeled as the title page for a Druid atlas. “Show the way.”

 

Kira is in the middle of copying a map of southern Callahorn when the door to the workshop creaks open. She rolls her sleeves down hastily to hide the smears of charcoal on her arms. The blond half-Elf who steps into the room has time to look around before she recognizes him.

“You must be Wil,” she says. “Can I help you?”

“Uh, I was… looking for Allanon.” He looks her over hesitantly. “You’re the lady Druid, right? You look a lot different awake.”

The boy looks like he regrets the awkward compliment as soon as it leaves his mouth, so Kira elects to ignore it. “I am.” She half-turns and gestures to the overgrown courtyard off the back of the workroom. “Allanon is meditating, but anything you have for him, I can deal with.”

Wil sighs. “The Council has voted that they’re going to vote on letting Amberle into the Sanctuary at noon tomorrow.” He rolls his eyes. “How they get anything done here, I don’t know.”

“The Elven High Council was once much smaller. Consensus was easier to gain then.” Kira blows charcoal dust from her work and closes her journal. “Come here. Let me see your hands.”

“Is this some sort of Druid fortune-telling?” Wil asks as he approaches.

He startles, almost shying away, when Kira laughs. “No, I am not trained in those ways. Allanon told me you were burned when you used the Elfstones.”

“Oh, yeah.” He tugs off his fingerless gloves with his teeth. “Are you a healer?”

“Yes and no,” Kira says as she takes his hands. “I can care for injuries, but sickness stronger than a common infection is beyond my skill. I know no complex medicines or potions, only simple tinctures and poultices.” She lets go of Wil. “Fortunately, it looks like you won’t need anything of the sort. Your hands are healing well.”

“Allanon did a spell-thing,” Wil mumbles. He rubs at his scarred palm.

“They’re still tender?” Kira asks.

“Yeah. I used witch hazel on the wrappings, and that helped for a while.” He looks up at her shyly. “I- I wanted to be a healer. I was going to Storlock to study before all this.”

“You still can, when the quest is completed.” She smiles at him. “I can make you a salve for the pain. Would you like to help?”

He seems startled by the offer. “Yeah! Yes, absolutely.”

“Come, I’ll write the instructions for you,” Kira says. Wil moves closer as she reaches for her journal, almost brushing her sleeve. With the proximity, she can feel the happiness that’s bloomed in him, the sense that _this is what he’s supposed to be doing, helping and healing not hurting._ It seems a terrible destiny for him to be a Shannara, bound to the fate of the Four Lands, when he wishes none of it.

“Thanks!” Wil chirps when she tears out the page and hands it to him. Kira lets none of her thoughts show on her face as she returns his smile.


	4. Ellcrys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amberle enters the Ellcrys, and dramatics ensue.

Nobody in Arborlon seems willing to stop Wil going anywhere, at least since Allanon announced his heritage in front of the entire Council. That includes the Ellcrys’ Sanctuary, even though it seems off-limits to everybody but the gardener and the now-mostly-slaughtered Chosen. It’s very quiet, which is all Wil cares about, and peaceful as long as he ignores the falling leaves. He’s yet to be bothered by anybody there, other than Allanon. This makes it rather a surprise when he closes the gate behind him and spots Kira across the garden.

The fountain on the far wall burbles out of a jar held by a scantily-clad stone nymph and pours into a shallow pool below. The Druid kneels at the edge, leaning forward on the retaining wall to stare into the water with frightening intensity. As Wil approaches, she sits back on her heels and mutters something in Ancient Druid that sounds a lot like a curse word.

“What did the fountain ever do to you?” Wil jokes.

Kira jumps, reaching for the bag at her side. “ _Felen-_ Wil!” She laughs when she sees him, a crystal noise much like the fountain. “Don’t startle me like that,” she says.

“Sorry. I’m so clumsy, most people hear me coming from miles away.” He starts to sit beside her, but stops halfway. “Do you mind if I-”

“Please, be my guest.” Kira gives him a gentle smile. “Are you only seeking company, or curious?” She gestures at the pool.

“Kinda both.” Wil folds his legs over each other, feeling like a child in a one-room schoolhouse again. “What were you doing?”

Kira sighs. “Scrying. Or trying to.” She runs her fingers through her hair. “I was the best Far-Seer of my generation, but I am struggling to make sense of what the magic shows me.”

He scoots a little closer, intrigued. “Far-Seer?”

“There are many types of Seers. True-Seers are the rarest, limited only by how well they are trained. There are Dead-Seers, who can learn the actions of a deceased person from their body or personal effects. I met a hedgewitch once who said she was a Love-Seer. You can guess for yourself what she claimed to know.” Kira grins at Wil’s blush. “And I am a Far-Seer. I can only tell what happens in the moment I look, but I can see over great distances. It is how I made many of my maps.”

“That’s amazing.” He sits back. “Speaking of maps, were you able to find an atlas in the Codex?”

“Oh, yes. I thought Allanon might jump for joy.” Wil’s jaw drops, and Kira covers another smile. “Do you truly see him as so terribly stoic?”

“I- I think the only emotion I’ve seen from him is irritation. Maybe mild annoyance.”

Kira laughs. “Perhaps he is not so open as you are, but he does not lack feelings. He likes you.”

“Likes me, or _like_ -likes me?” Wil asks to cover his surprise.

She laughs again. “You aggravate him regularly, but he knows you have great potential. I do not need to scry to see it myself.”

Wil shakes his head. Time to change the subject, before they start talking about _destiny_ , too. “What is scrying, anyways?”

“To scry is to look, in search of Sight.” He can practically hear the capitalized word as Kira gestures at the pool. “I use water when I can. It conducts magic very well. But you can use almost anything reflective.”

“Could I do it?”

Kira’s brow furrows. “You might, with a great deal of training. It does not flow in your blood as other magics do.”

“I have magic in my blood,” Wil repeats skeptically. “What, other than the Elfstones I can’t use without fainting and burning myself?”

“If I told you, you would not listen.” She gives him a lopsided smile. “Would you like to try?”

“Why not.” It’s not like he has anything better to do.

“Take my hand,” Kira says. “I will help guide you. Look into the water and picture who you want to see.” As Wil obeys, she continues, “Not only their face. Everything you can think of: their manner of speech, their scent, their laugh.”

“I see Amberle!” At his excited outburst, the image wavers. “She’s- I think she’s in the Council Chamber. Oh, it’s gone now.”

“Very well done.” Kira pats his hand. “You are quite powerful. It is surprising that you-” She stops abruptly. “I apologize. I will not say something that will discourage you.”

“Like what?”

Kira looks away, in the direction of the gate. “That’s odd.” She stands, brushing dirt from her dress, just as Wil spots Catania hurrying toward them.

“I came as quickly as I-” The blonde girl stops, almost gasping for breath. Kira steps forward to support her. “The Council-”

“They’ve decided?” Wil jumps to his feet.

“They voted yes,” Catania pants. “Allanon and the king- escorting Amberle here now.”

“You should return to the palace,” Kira says. “More slowly than you came. Amberle will need care once she passes the Ellcrys’ ordeal.”

“There’s an ordeal?” Catania and Wil ask as one.

“At which Amberle will succeed without trouble.” The Druid hesitates. “I think.”

 

The entrance to the Ellcrys closes with a sound far too much like a sealing crypt for Kira’s comfort. She takes a half-step to the side, pressing her shoulder against Allanon’s. Although he doesn’t turn to look at her, the warmth that seeps through his leathers is reassurance enough. “ _I fear for her_ ,” she murmurs in Noalath.

“ _As does everyone here_ ,” Allanon replies quietly. On his far side, Wil is giving them both a curious look. “ _Amberle will succeed. It is her destiny._ ”

“ _And if it is not her destiny?_ ” Kira struggles to keep her voice calm. “ _Do we wait a year for more Chosen to be selected? Do we throw girls at the Ellcrys at random?_ ” A rumble of thunder draws her attention upward. “ _Of course, because the ceremony is not yet ominous enough!_ ”

“ _Quiet_.” She turns, ready to snarl at Allanon, but he’s fixed her with a steady gaze. “ _You draw attention. Do not frighten the others._ ”

Kira glances around guiltily. It’s true. Most of the Council is watching her, and the king looks particularly concerned. “ _I should leave_ ,” she says as the first rain begins to fall.

Allanon’s hand on her elbow stops her as she turns away. “ _Stay._ ”

She looks back at him over her shoulder. “ _Is that an order?"_  She asks only because she knows it isn’t.

Allanon pulls her back with little enough force that she comes mostly of her own will. “ _The princess may need healing. You are more skilled than I am._ ”

“ _That’s not written in the Codex,_ ” Kira teases.

He releases her to cross his arms over his chest. “ _Everyone’s more skilled at healing than I am_ ,” he says with only a hint of a huff.

After a crack of lightning, Wil steps toward them. “So if Amberle fails the trial, the Ellcrys will kill her?” His pretty blue eyes all but beg for the Druids to contradict him.

Kira can only nod. “If she succumbs to her fear,” Allanon agrees. “And we will lose any hope of saving this world from the Dagda Mor.”

“Perhaps not any hope,” Kira says. Allanon gives her a disapproving look. “ _We could always throw him at it_ ,” she insists, gesturing at Wil. Allanon’s mouth purses, which she suspects means he’s avoiding a smile.

“Can you scry inside it?” Wil asks. “You could tell how she’s doing.”

Kira shakes her head. “I am sorry. The magic of the Ellcrys is too strong.” She eyes Allanon as he steps toward the Ellcrys and raises a hand to touch its trunk. “ _Be careful_.”

“ _I am always careful_ ,” Allanon mutters.

A long moment passes before he steps back from the tree. “Is that your usual grave look, or should I be worried?” Wil asks.

“ _I would not answer his question_ ,” Kira murmurs.

“ _I am not a fool_ ,” Allanon says.

Kira arches an eyebrow and leaves the argument unspoken. It earns her a baleful look from her compatriot. “ _She does not do well, I imagine. Give her time._ ”

“ _Time is one of many things we lack_.” Allanon crosses his arms again.

Time passes nonetheless. Wil paces back and forth. One of the Councillors produces an umbrella from under his robes and ventures out from cover to ask if the abrupt change of weather was expected. Allanon does not respond as Kira makes increasingly desperate jokes about the Councillor’s preparedness and what else he might have under his robes.

Finally, finally, the clouds recede and the entrance to the Ellcrys rumbles open. Amberle stumbles, tear-streaked and slightly bloody, into her family’s arms. As far as Kira can tell, she has no wounds deep enough to need healing and the Ellcrys’ seed.

“ _And you believed she would fail._ ” Kira resists the urge to elbow Allanon in the side.

 

The meeting room off the king’s chamber is quieter than Amberle’s ever seen it. Usually, it’s packed with Council members and military officers, all discussing her grandfather’s agenda at the top of their lungs. Now, as Amberle sketches the image the Ellcrys showed her, the room is empty of everyone but her grandfather and uncles, the Druids, Wil and herself.

“This is what I saw in my vision,” Amberle says, adding the final touches to her drawing. Darker shading here, a highlight on that side... “It was on a stained-glass window, I think. Do you recognize it?”

Kira cocks her head as she finishes knotting the bandage on Amberle’s upper arm. The princess bites back a grimace. “It looks a great deal like a human heart on fire. Otherwise, it’s not familiar.”

“That’s reassuring,” Wil sighs. “At least we know the way to Safehold, right?” From opposite ends of the table, Allanon and Kira glance at each other. “Right?” Wil repeats.

“The destination is not the issue,” Allanon says.

Arion growls, turning to Amberle’s grandfather. “I don’t know about them, but I have had enough of this magician’s cryptic pronouncements.”

“You know nothing of the world of magic,” Eventine snaps back, and Amberle winces on her uncle’s behalf. “Allanon-”

“Is just a man,” Arion interrupts. “And we’re supposed to believe his accomplice was hidden under our palace for hundreds of years? Beneath the cloaks and mysticism, they are the same enemy that we have spent our entire lives fighting.” Beside Amberle, Kira rubs the rounded tips of her ears. Amberle tugs the Druid’s hand down and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

Allanon leans forward on the table, resting his weight on his fists. “We are not your enemy, Prince. The coming demon horde is.”

Kira squeezes Amberle’s hand back before she circles the table to rest a hand on the other Druid’s shoulder. “ _Thumpíchef,_ Allanon,” she murmurs. He pushes himself away from the table and gestures at Arion in exasperation, but allows Kira to step forward. “The issue is this: it will be a month or more before we reach Safehold,” she says. “As quickly as the Ellcrys is shedding her leaves, the elven army alone will not stand against the demons. You must ally or be overrun.”

Arion’s laugh is shrill. “‘We are not your enemy,’ he says, as she begins to whisper treason! What a coordinated double act!”

“Callahorn will answer the call,” Allanon says, addressing the king and ignoring Arion. He lays his hand on Kira’s shoulder. “We will make them, if we must.”

“How?” Amberle asks. After a second thought, she regrets the question. Maybe she doesn’t want to know if they can force people to their will.

“I granted the Border Legion their earliest maps,” Kira says. “They will remember that debt.”

“Send a delegate,” Allanon urges. He glances at Ander meaningfully. “An important one.”

“You can’t be serious!” Arion shouts. Amberle and Wil take a step back from the table as one. “If Safehold was anywhere near Tyrsis, it would have been discovered centuries ago. You are going out of your way to-”

Eventine slams his hand down on the table. “Enough!” He glares at Arion. “You will ready the army and leave the strategizing to those who know their foes. Ander will travel to Tyrsis with a platoon of the Elven Guard and negotiate for aid. And you-” He looks to the Druids.

“We will ride to Tyrsis with the prince,” Kira says. “From there, we can lose any pursuers in transport on the Rainbow Lake.”

“Very well,” the king agrees.

“No mention of this plan can leave the room,” Allanon says. “The Dagda Mor still has his traitor within these walls.”

“I may yet have a solution to that,” Kira says.

“Let us hope you can do so quickly,” Eventine says. “You will leave in two days.”

 

Kira leans back against the table, watching Wil and Amberle leave the meeting room. “ _Her capability concerns me_ ,” she admits quietly.

“ _She survived the Ellcrys’ ordeal_ ,” Allanon says. He’s still studying the maps spread across the table. “ _If nothing else, we will be there to protect her._ ”

“ _Against a demon horde, we may not be enough_.”

“ _We have an apprentice, a Shannara, and several squadrons of trained soldiers. Does that sound better?_ ” There’s a hint of amusement in Allanon’s eyes when he glances at her.

She shakes her head. “ _The boys will travel with us, yes, but the Guard we must leave in Tyrsis. They will attract too much attention_.”

He nods, sighing faintly. “ _You are right, though I doubt Prince Ander will be glad to hear your plan._ ”

“ _I did not intend to inform him. Something I learned from you._ ”

Allanon looks down at the maps again, hiding a smile. “ _In any case, you said you have a way to find the demon spy._ ”

“ _I have tried scrying for it. I see either mist, or random inhabitants of the palace. It must be a Changeling._ ” Kira runs her fingers through her hair. “ _There are more complex scrying rituals described in the Codex. With your help or Bandon’s, I may be able to track the demon._ ”

Allanon’s brow furrows. “ _I doubt the boy will volunteer, but sometimes a Druid’s lessons are harsh._ ”

“ _He has a gentle heart. That is not something that must be driven from him._ ”

“ _As it was from you?_ ” Allanon asks.

“ _They tried._ ” Kira snatches the maps from Allanon’s gaze, shuffling them into an organized pile.

Allanon frowns at her, but the sound of the meeting room door opening stops him before he speaks. “Master Druids,” Commander Tilton calls. “We need your aid.”

“What is it?” Allanon asks, already striding toward the commander with a hand on his sword hilt.

“The gardener who tends the Ellcrys has been murdered,” Tilton says, tight-lipped.

“Send a guard to find the boy Bandon,” Allanon orders.

“Don’t,” Kira says. Allanon gives her a firm look as she approaches. “Leave the boy be until we know whether he is needed.”

“ _You waste an opportunity to teach him_ ,” Allanon says.

“ _Then so be it_ ,” Kira replies. “ _He will learn plenty of death on the journey._ ” She turns to the commander. “Take us to the body, please.”


	5. See It All Clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Druids prepare for an attack by the Dagda Mor's spy.

Allanon crouches beside the gardener’s body, taking in the scene. Nothing seems to have been disturbed, but among the cluttered greenhouse, it’s difficult to tell. The gardener has certainly been disturbed: an expression of fear is frozen on his face from the moment a sword was thrust through his mouth into his skull.

“His name was Went,” the Elven Commander says from the doorway. “He tended the Ellcrys for more than twenty years.”

“Is anything missing?” Kira lifts her skirts and steps around the blood pool with the air of a dainty noblewoman.

“Nothing,” the commander says. “Not even his notes.”

Allanon tips the gardener’s head back carefully. “Not a blow struck in passion, but neither the mark of an assassin,” he remarks, studying the wound. His fingers come away bloody, but without resistance. “Dead less than an hour. No one suspicious was seen leaving the Sanctuary?”

The delicate chains on the commander’s ear-clasps jingle softly as she shakes her head. “No one. But there was a change of the guard; they may have been missed.”

Kira looks up from the table where she was studying the jars of Ellcrys sap. “Do all members of the Black Watch carry the same manner of sword?”

“Yes, they’re issued from the royal armory.” The commander frowns at the female Druid. “What does that-”

“Let me see one,” Kira orders, stepping around the bloody puddle again and holding out her hand. At the commander’s nod, one of the Watch hands over his sword. Kira takes it and crouches beside Allanon. “It’s the same, isn’t it?” she murmurs.

“Yes. You can see the imprint of the hilt.” He traces the outline of the bruise beneath the gardener’s jaw, identical to the ornate guard of the Black Watch sword.

“He found the Changeling disguised as a member of the Watch,” Kira says.

“Changeling?” the commander repeats.

“A shapeshifter,” Allanon says over his shoulder. “It can inhabit the form of any being it chooses.” He looks back to Kira and speaks in Noalath: “ _Now that it has struck, it will do so again soon. Gather the children and take them to the workroom. They will be safer under our watch_.”

Kira stands, brushing off her skirts. “ _Do you think I should prepare wardings?_ ”

Allanon shakes his head as he stands. “ _The demon is already within the walls._ ”

He’s startled and almost jerks away when Kira grasps his arm. “ _I will not lose you. Be careful_.”

“ _And you._ ” He clasps her shoulder for a second before moving away. “With me, Commander.”

 

When the door opens, Eretria’s first instinct is to roll off of Wil and onto the floor behind the bed.

“Well,” a woman with a heavy accent says. “This is rather more of you than I expected to see today.”

“Kira!” Wil squeals. As she crawls under the bed, Eretria can hear the sheets rustling, probably as Short-Tips covers himself. “What are you doing here? Don’t you ever knock?”

“You’re in danger,” Kira announces. “Get dressed.”

“She’s really not that bad,” Wil says. Eretria facepalms as quietly as she can. “I made sure to disarm her before- y’know-”

“I sincerely do not care. Get dressed now.” Wil scrambles off the far side of the bed as a pair of fine leather boots approach. The sheet dangling off the bed is yanked up abruptly, and Eretria finds herself staring into the grey eyes of a human woman. “If you get dressed as well and come with me quietly, I shan’t report you to the guards,” Kira says.

“How generous,” Eretria snarls. She squirms out from under the bed nonetheless.

The redhead watches Eretria, expressionless, as she gathers her clothes. “Would you like to introduce me to your friend, Wil?”

“Would you like to give me a little privacy?” Eretria asks sarcastically, wriggling into her pants.

“I am not foolish enough to think I could trust you with it,” Kira replies.

“Uh, Eretria,” Wil says, struggling to do up the buttons of his trousers in the right order. “Rover. Nice person under all the thieving. I think. Um, meet Kira of Paranor, second-to-last Druid.”

“Another Druid?” Eretria sniffs disdainfully as she tucks in her shirt. “One was bad enough. What’s so important that you have to come barging in here, anyways?”

“A shapeshifting demon is trying to prevent us from saving the world,” Kira says with a bland smile.

“Shapeshifting demon?” Wil drops his belt with a clatter.

“I’ll explain later.” Kira takes a step toward Eretria and grabs her chin while her arms are tangled in her jacket. Her first instinct is to grope for a blade, but Wil actually did a good job with the disarming. A chill passes through her just as she grasps one of her knives, and it drops from her numb fingers.

_She was telling the truth when she told Wil she wanted to get away from Cephalo. She played it up a little bit, toyed with his sense of heroism, but at the root it was real. The best lies are. She feels a little bad about taking the stones, especially if his whole ‘gotta save the world’ thing was true, but what were the odds of that? She’d give them to Cephalo and she’d be out for good; she could cut some purses, con some rich bastards, and then go straight, set herself up somewhere far away-_

Eretria jerks herself away from the Druid with a convulsive shudder. “What the hell was that?”

“Assist us and you will be paid handsomely,” Kira says. “Or you can hand over the Elfstones and leave to face your father’s wrath.”

“You took-” Over the Druid’s shoulder, Eretria can see Wil patting himself down frantically. “Damn it, Eretria!”

“Oh, grow up, Short-Tips,” she growls. She digs the bag out of a hidden pocket and throws it at him, hitting him squarely in the chest. “It’s not like you didn’t see it coming.”

Kira cocks her head. “Is that your decision?”

“How much is ‘handsomely’?” Eretria forces herself to stand strong under the Druid’s steel-eyed gaze, no matter how much she wants to make a break for it.

“Name your price.”

“Two hundred gold pieces.” In the corner of the room, Wil makes a choked-off gasping noise.

“Done.” Damn, she should’ve gone higher.

“Half now.”

The Druid raises an eyebrow. “Where do you expect to spend it on the road?”

“It’s not about spending it, it’s about having it,” Eretria snarls.

“And how do you expect me to believe you won’t run off if you have it?”

Fair enough. “A quarter now.”

“An eighth now, and another eighth when we reach the halfway point.”

“Done.” Eretria spits into her hand and offers it to shake. Kira spits and shakes without hesitation, a surprising thing from a non-Rover. “Who knew Druids drove such hard bargains?”

Kira’s grin shows too many teeth to be entirely friendly. “Some things never change,” she replies.

 

Bandon doesn’t actively slink into the workshop, but it’s a near thing. He’s avoided Kira fairly successfully since she awoke, if only for the sake of being (sort-of) the only living witness to her entombment. He hasn’t been too eager to get Druid lessons from her, either, especially if what Wil said about her being a Seer is true. Allanon’s instruction has been rough enough.

Still, there comes a point when every man’s fortune turns. That was what his grandfather used to say, at least. The Home Guard had been welcoming to the poor little orphan who wanted to learn about being a warrior. (He hadn’t bothered telling them that he didn’t particularly mind being an orphan.) Their lessons were almost as tough as Allanon’s. A whack on the head had sent him to the infirmary, where the Druid had snatched him up, given him a short-but-stern lecture on shirking his duties, and ordered him to report to Kira. _Yay._

The sound of clashing steel from the courtyard mostly covers the sound of the door closing behind him, but Kira looks up from her work nonetheless. “Bandon,” she says, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. He braces for another shirking-your-magical-duties lecture, but she stops there.

“Uh. Kira.” He gives her a stiff nod, which she returns, and approaches with some hesitance. “What’s going on out there?” he asks, gesturing at the archway to the courtyard.

“Ah. Wil’s Rover friend, Eretria, doesn’t take well to being confined. She goaded him into sparring practice.” Kira’s smile is loose and easy, all parental indulgence and amused watchfulness. It’s a strange sort of expression, one Bandon’s never seen before.

“You don’t care that they’re…” He stops, uncertain what he means to say. That they’re doing something without her explicit permission? _Normal_ people get to do that.

Kira shakes her head, either missing or ignoring his uneasiness. “I see no harm in it. They won’t hurt each other. Not badly, at least.”

“Right. Well.” Bandon folds his hands, unfolds and rearranges them. “Allanon said you needed to see me.”

“Yes.” Kira closes her journal with a whisper of vellum pages, but not before he catches a glimpse of a sketch of an immense and heavily armored figure wreathed in flame. “There is a threat within the palace, a demon spy turned assassin. You may be one of its targets.”

Kira pauses for a breath, and Bandon jumps in. Maybe he’ll be punished for interrupting, but it seems an important question. “Why me?”

She looks to him with a raised eyebrow, and he immediately regrets speaking. He’s expecting a smack, not- “Because you’re important, child.”

“I’m- I’m- what?” He almost laughs.

“The power of a Seer draws many. Not only demons, but people who will wish to exploit your gifts.” Her expression softens as she cocks her head, and she gives him a gently sardonic sort of smile. “Trust me, I know.”

“So you just want me here to keep an eye on me,” he mumbles. Of course. Foolish, dangerous Bandon, who needs to be watched or otherwise locked away.

“I need you here, so I can teach you to protect yourself.”

By the time Bandon’s head snaps up, Kira is already walking toward the courtyard. “You- Really?”

“What use would it be to lie?” She beckons for him to follow. “Come along, now.”

Out in the courtyard, Wil and Eretria are tangled in a corner. One of them has the other in a headlock, but it’s difficult to tell which. When Kira clears her throat pointedly, they tumble apart.

“She doesn’t fight fair!” Wil complains, laying on his side and panting.

“Life isn’t fair,” Eretria replies, equally out of breath. She moves slightly, and Wil yelps.

“Stop touching my butt!” the half-Elf protests.

“Stop making such hilarious noises when I do!”

Kira shakes her head as she walks, smiling faintly at the pair’s continued bickering. She stops under a stone arbor, overgrown with ivy, and beckons Bandon closer. “A shield spell is one of the most important things you’ll ever use,” she says. “It can protect either your body or your mind. Which would you like to learn first?”

“Uh- body, I guess.” That option sounds at least a little less unpleasant.

“Turn to the side,” Kira orders. “Spread your feet. You want to present a smaller target. Raise your arm to the level of your shoulder, palm out.” Bandon obeys, shuffling in the dirt. “As you grow more practiced, you’ll be able to cast a shield from other positions, but this is the easiest.” She circles him once, surveying his posture. “Is your right hand your dominant?”

He cringes at the question. “I mean, it’s supposed to be. Isn’t it?” It’s a rhetorical question; he can’t remember how many times he came home from the schoolhouse with his knuckles bruised or bleeding because he tried to use his left hand. It got to the point where the teacher told his parents he’d never learn to write properly, and to stop sending him. Things went downhill from there. He’d been twelve.

“Boy-” Kira cuts herself off with a sigh. Great. This is the part where he gets shouted at, usually. He lowers his hand, bracing for the scolding. “Bandon, if your left hand is your stronger, then use it. Otherwise you’ll do yourself more harm than your enemies will.”

“You’re… you’re serious.” He eyes the Druid suspiciously. “You don’t care that it’s the wrong hand?”

“Your safety is more important than the notion that there are correct or incorrect hands.” The irritated note in her voice that Bandon’s been expecting finally appears, but she speaks more calmly after a breath. “Spells that depend on motion for guidance are typically divided into main-hand and off-hand movements. Which is dominant does not matter-”

Kira takes a quick step to the side, avoiding Wil as he slides across the dirt and thumps into one of the arbor’s pillars. “Plus, left-handed swordsmen are killer,” Wil says, winded.

“Thank you for that addition,” the Druid says. She offers Wil a hand and helps him to his feet. “I certainly hope you’re giving as good as you’re getting.”

“I’m trying,” he says. He leans forward for a moment, breathing hard.

Kira brushes the worst of the dust off the half-Elf’s jacket. “Come, you can learn this as well.”

“Okay, sure.” Wil coughs before straightening. “What are we learning?”

Kira launches into the same little speech she gave before: shield spell, mind or body, very important, turn to the side, so on and so forth. Wil mirrors Bandon’s posture at the Druid’s instruction, although she pauses to nudge his feet farther apart. “Now things get philosophical for a moment,” she says when they’re in position. “Words are how we shape reality. Not only how Druids use magic, but how people every day determine what they perceive. Language has great power, and you can tap into that to lessen the strain magic will place upon you. What works best varies for each person, just as the strain does, and with time you will adapt this spell to your own strengths. The standard I was taught at Paranor was the phrase _‘Yoyarod hus shef’_. _I resist you._ ”

“ _Aya-_ ” Wil pulls a face. “ _Yayor-_ ”

Bandon closes his eyes, ignoring Wil fumbling with the Druid words. _I resist you. I resist you._ “ _Yoyarod hus shef_.” Wil yelps, and Bandon opens his eyes, only to see through a shifting bronze veil. As soon as his concentration breaks, the shield fades away and vanishes.

“Very well done, Bandon,” Kira says.

He studies her smile closely: the way her eyes crinkle at the corners, the way one side of her mouth is higher than the other. He has to save it, stored away with Allanon’s “ _Well done, I’m proud of you._ ” He has to save it for a dark day.


	6. Poradash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Poradash" - Noalath, "shapeshifter".
> 
> Oh, I've been excited to post this one for weeks, almost.

Wil bites back a yelp as Kira wraps a clean bandage around the cut on his arm. She’s muttering something about “... foolish enough to let your shield fall, you almost deserve it.”

“Hey, it’s really hard to stay focused on a spell when somebody grabs your ass,” Wil protests. Damn Eretria and her sneaky Rover methods. “What was in that poultice, anyway?” he asks, trying to change the subject.

“Coneflower and chamomile,” Kira says, still winding the bandage. “Both help prevent infection. And sunflower oil as a binder.”

Wil’s feet dangle toward the floor from where he’s sitting on the edge of the table, and he swings them idly. “Where did you learn all of this stuff? Did you train somewhere before you went to Paranor?”

“Yes and no.” Kira focuses on her work, but he gets the sense she’s avoiding eye contact. “I was sent to Paranor at a young age. I wasn’t allowed to begin martial training until thirteen, so I was apprenticed to the healers.” She cuts the bandage with the small dagger at his side and begins to knot the ends.

“How old were you?” Wil asks.

“Eight.” Kira yanks the knot tight and straightens to meet his gaze. Her grey eyes are cold. “I tried to warn my village that a group of bandits were riding for us. When they attacked, half of the townspeople died. After that, my parents entrusted me to the care of the Druids.”

“They sent you away, you mean.” He can’t imagine his mother ever doing something like that.

“They were right to do so. A Seer attracts danger.” Her jaw sets. “I would have gotten the other half of the village killed, sooner or later.”

“I’m sorry.”

Kira turns away, sorting the pile of stones and strings that she had been working on before. “Don’t be,” she says tightly. “They are hundreds of years dead. Here-” She drops something into his hands.

“What is it?” Maybe she’s as bad at changing the topic as he is, but he’ll run with it. Wil untangles the item and lifts it by its leather cord, letting the clear crystal dangle.

“A signal crystal, an old Druid magic. They can share messages as thoughts over a dozen leagues.” Kira pulls a crystal with a greenish tint from the pile and slips the cord over her head.

“That seems…” Well, unbelievable is his first thought, but a lot of unbelievable things have been proving true recently. “Really powerful. How come there aren’t any around, still?”

“They are keyed to their intended user. For any other, they are worthless.” Kira smooths the now-sorted line of crystals so the cords lie flat. “Would you be willing to run an errand for me, Wil?”

“Sure.” He hops off the table.

“On second thought- Eretria!” Kira calls.

Wil scowls. “You don’t really think the ‘keyed to an intended user’ thing is going to stop her from pocketing them, do you?”

“I would like you to go together, for safety,” Kira says as Eretria enters the workroom, heavy boots clomping along.

“What’s up?” the Rover asks. “I almost got a knife into your pointy-eared apprentice by bouncing it off the wall behind him. I wanna try again.”

“That’s terrible!” Wil gasps. Eretria just shrugs.

“Do try not to harm Bandon seriously, if you can. In the meantime, this is for you.” Kira tosses a smooth, dark crystal to Eretria. “It’s a signal crystal. You can use it to contact others who have a crystal, in case of an emergency.”

“Like the Changeling jumping out and murdering you,” Eretria says cheerfully.

“Yes,” Kira agrees with a hint of exasperation. She takes two of the three remaining crystals, a rounded pink one and a larger grey one, and hands them to Wil. “These are for Amberle and Allanon. They are still in the throne room. Eretria, I would like you to accompany Wil.”

“How do you know where they are?” Wil asks.

“If Allanon was anywhere closer, his irritation with Prince Arion would give me a headache,” Kira says tartly. She raises a finger in warning. “Do not tell him I said so.”

“What do we do if we find the Changeling?” Eretria asks.

“You will not know it unless it attacks you, and I doubt it will do so if you remain together, as it cannot mimic two people at the same time. Trust no one you see other than Allanon or me.”

“How do you know it won’t pretend to be you two?” The Rover twines the crystal’s cord around her fingers as she speaks.

“Every trained Druid has a unique magical signature that cannot be imitated. If one of us came across the Changeling disguised as the other, we would know immediately.” Kira shakes her head. “It will not run that risk of identification.”

“Well, that’s all the questions I’ve got.” Eretria loops the crystal around her neck. “Let’s go, Short-Tips.”

“Stop calling me that!” Wil calls after her, hurrying to follow.

 

Bandon looks up from his work as the door to the workshop opens. After Wil and Eretria left, Kira had called him in and set him to reading passages copied out of the Codex. They’re dry, but after Eretria spent so long testing his shield, he’s happy to have a break. Across the room, Kira looks up as well, grasping the hilt of the dagger beside her journal.

Wil closes the door behind himself and gives a self-conscious wave to the room at large. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Kira’s mouth tightens, but her grip on the knife loosens. “I told you not to travel alone, Wil.”

“I know, sorry.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets and ambles forward. “Eretria got wrapped up in arguing with Allanon, and I just… really didn’t want to be there for that.”

“It is for your own good,” Kira chides gently.

“I know.” The half-Elf folds his shoulders in, all the picture of a humbled apprentice. “What are you working on now?”

“Hmm? Oh.” She gestures vaguely at the papers and books that spread across the table. “I’m compiling some maps out of the Codex, seeing which we could use extra copies of.”

“Really?” Wil sidles up beside her, peering over her shoulder.

The Druid stiffens abruptly. “Bandon?”

“Do you need me?” he asks, starting to stand.

Kira shakes her head. “Run.”

The wet noise as the Changeling pulls its dagger from between Kira’s ribs is hideously familiar. The rictus grin it’s forced onto Wil’s face, on the other hand, seems bizarrely out of place. Kira leans forward, resting heavily on the table, and for a second Bandon thinks she’s going to collapse. The Changeling lunges forward, moving to vault the table, but Kira shifts her weight and sends the table tumbling to the ground. The Changeling hits the floor in a flurry of papers, howling with displeasure.

“Run, damn you!” Kira shouts. Bandon hesitates another second before obeying. He can fetch the Guard, he can find Allanon, he can get Wil and Eretria. Someone. Anyone.

 

There’s a whine building in the back of Kira’s throat- _don’t leave me, please_ \- as Bandon runs, but she forces it out as a snarl. “Your choice of disguise was a wise one, _Poradash_ , but your attack was not. You believe you can defeat me in battle?” She forms her spear around its haft and holds it ready to keep the Changeling at bay as she moves toward the archway to the courtyard. In a larger space with fewer obstacles, she will have the upper hand.

The Changeling rolls out of the mess of papers and balances on all fours, a pose too fluid and feral for Wil’s form. “I thought your little _yostrik_ would be the most foolish of the band,” it agrees with a chuckle. “You wouldn’t trust a Guardsman to get close enough for a clean assassination.”

“You didn’t take the chance when you had it,” Kira spits, still moving toward the courtyard. “Why not cut my throat and be done with it?”

“Because I look forward to watching you die slowly!” The Changeling giggles before it launches itself at her, daggers in both hands.

Kira parries the attack with a staff sweep, knocking one of the blades from its hand. It clatters away across the stone floor and dissolves into a dark wisp of smoke, its illusory nature too unstable to maintain its form beyond the Changeling’s grasp. Kira finishes the movement of the parry and turns back halfway, thrusting the blunt end of her spear between her enemy’s legs and twisting it. The Changeling tumbles out into the courtyard, rolling once across the ground and coming up in a crouch.

“Tricky, tricky,” it giggles. It raises a hand, forming a new dagger, as Kira steps into the courtyard. She’s slower than she would like to be, but the wound in her side pulls with every movement. There’s no rasp in her breath, which means it missed her lungs, but she is bleeding steadily. She has ten minutes until she’s unconscious, twenty until she dies. That should be long enough to kill the Changeling. Should be. It’s watching her closely, and although she knows- _knows_ \- it cannot hear her thoughts as another Druid might, she wonders if it’s making the same calculations. “Frightened, _Leadrik_?” it taunts. “Little _Leadrik_ _Arenáichazh_!”

Kira pivots on her forward foot, slashing at the Changeling powerfully. Is she afraid? No. But she’ll gladly let it think so. It leaps back with a shriek, clutching a gaping wound on its arm as she settles back into her guard position.

“Kira, why?” it sobs in Wil’s voice, filling his blue eyes with tears. “Please, I thought-”

“Don’t even bother,” she snarls. “Your tricks mean nothing to me.”

“Someone else, then?” The Changeling flourishes its daggers as it warps its body, settling again as Bandon. “You said you were going to teach me,” it gasps in Bandon’s voice, wavering. “You said I was going to be your apprentice.”

“I said I was to be your destruction, _Poradash_!” She slashes at it again, but too slowly. As she twists to complete the movement, she can feel one of its daggers rip across the small of her back. The Changeling laughs hysterically as she cries out in pain and surprise.

“Your tricks mean nothing to me,” it echoes in a perfect copy of her voice. “What a witty line. I could use it on your compatriot before I kill him!”

Kira falls back against the arbor, leaning against a pillar heavily. “Allanon will know you as soon as you take my form. You cannot fool him.” Gods’ mercy, but the wound to her back burns.

The Changeling paces back and forth, taunting her, waiting for her to weaken. “I have spent centuries in the Forbidding. Perhaps I’ve learned something new.”

“You and your master will never learn!” Kira spits. If she can goad it into a speech… “You will be locked away for centuries more when the power of the Ellcrys is restored.”

The Changeling all but strikes a pose, throwing back its head to laugh. “You think you can restore the Ellcrys? How much the Forgotten Druid has forgotten!”

Kira changes her grip on her spear, taking it in one hand as the Changeling cackles and grasping her signal crystal with the other. _Allanon, Allanon, Allanon, if only Wil has reached him, Allanon!_

_He freezes in the throne room mid-sentence, hand going to the grey crystal at his throat. No panic but pain, bitter hate and desperation, how much time does she have before she falls? Allanon, take the children and keep them safe, Allanon, I'm sorry-_

The Changeling leaps, and Kira releases the crystal to throw up her spear in a guard. It weaves away slower than she lunges, gushes black blood down the shaft as it pulls away.

“How dare you,” it gasps. The sheer note of affront in its voice makes Kira laugh dizzily. “I will flay your skin from your flesh, your flesh from your bones-”

“You will die screaming,” Kira says, jeering. “I have marked you now, and every shape you take will bleed the bile that you are made of. Kill me if you like, flay me if you like, but will you have time to flee to your master before you are found out?”

The Changeling hesitates, and Kira laughs again. It twists Bandon’s face into a mask of hate at the sound. “I will leave your wretched, mangled body for your friends to weep over,” it snarls. “I wonder if they will have time to return you to your crypt before my master takes Arborlon-”

Kira thrusts her spear forward with a yell. The Changeling dodges away, but she pushes off the pillar and throws herself against its form. They tumble once- no, twice- before Kira kicks it off her and sends it flying. It hits a stone bench and lies dazed for a second, enough time for Kira to struggle to her feet. Her skirt clings to her, soaked with blood.

She’s expecting it to leap up and attack her again, not to kick out and sweep her legs out from under her. She hits the ground hard, crying out as her head strikes the stone and her spear rolls from her grasp. _No, no,_ she thinks as the Changeling rises to stand over her. _I haven’t given Allanon enough time_.

“I will take your face,” the Changeling says. It presses its hands together, combining the two daggers into a twisted longsword. “I will wear it when I kill your friends. I want you to know this before I put you out of your misery.”

For once, she doesn’t have a witty response. She lays her head back, watching as it approaches. _A spell, any spell-_ The Changeling raises its sword to plunge it into her, but she throws up her hands instinctively. “ _Yoyaret!”_

The Changeling’s blade skitters off her shield with a shower of sparks. It snarls in surprise, all but spitting at the glass-green barrier. “How long do you think you can hold that, Druid?”

“Long enough,” Kira lies through gritted teeth. She doubts it will last more than a minute. Her hands are beginning to shake already, and blackness seeps in around the edge of her vision. She only needs to buy Allanon time, time for him to gather the children and time for the Changeling to mark itself with its blood. She is dead already.

The Changeling howls its displeasure, bringing its sword down on her shield in a powerful overhand strike. Kira grunts as the drain on her power blinds her for a second. The Changeling slashes again, and her shield barely holds against the blow before it wavers and vanishes. The demon grins wildly, raising its sword one last time - and stops.

Allanon pulls his blade from the Changeling’s gut and raises it to cut the demon’s head from its shoulders in a single smooth movement.

“I told you to-” Kira breaks off, gasping for breath as Allanon kicks the Changeling’s body out of the way and kneels beside her.

“You aren’t in charge here,” he replies. She cries out as he puts pressure on her side. “This goes deep. It must be healed.”

“I can’t,” she pants. “The shield took all I had.”

Allanon touches her cheek, keeping pressure on her wound with the other hand. “Close your eyes. Just breathe.” Kira obeys. “ _E zhal e yenola verana shef, er e yonyeara e lushe an Oros shef._ ”

She covers his hand with hers before she lets the darkness take her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Yostrik" means "halfling" or "half-Elf".


	7. A Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like I would actually kill Kira off. It was awfully fun pretending, though.

Kira’s fingers tighten around his, then loosen as her breathing slows. Allanon presses against her wound until the warmth from the healing fire fades. She moans faintly, shifting as he pulls away, and he reaches for her mind instinctively to see if she will wake. No, her sleep is dreamless, painless. She will wake hale and whole, as though none of this happened. As though she never intended to sacrifice herself for him. He holds her hand a moment longer than necessary, shoulders dropping as he sighs. He has spent so many years as the Last Druid, but only a few days with Kira have left him with a sense of dread at returning to that state.

The door to the workroom slams open just as he gathers Kira into his arms, soft and limp. He holds her tight as Arion and Ander charge into the courtyard at the head of a band of Guards. Wil and Bandon push their way through the group and across the yard.

“Allanon!”

“Is she all right?”

“I wanted to help but she told me to run-”

“Enough,” Allanon says, gruffer than need be in his own relief. He nudges his way between the boys, trying not to shift Kira from where her head lolls against his shoulder. “She will recover,” he says to Wil, and to Bandon, “You did well to fetch the Guard.”

“What is that?” Arion asks, regarding the faceless form of the demon’s corpse.

“It was a Changeling.” He pauses to address the older prince. “See that the head and body are burned. Separately.”

Ander sheathes his sword and turns to follow Allanon inside. Wil and Bandon tag along behind them. “Does your friend need help?”

“I have healed her, but she fought hard. She needs time to regain her strength.” He lays Kira on one of the work tables carefully, supporting her neck. One of her hands dangles over the edge of the table, and he folds it across her stomach. Her skin seems pale as moonlight against the blood-soaked cloth of her dress.

“How long?” Bandon asks.

“It will be a few hours until she wakes.” Allanon forces his attention away from Kira. “Perhaps a day until she can use her magic again.”

Arion turns from overseeing the Guards carrying the demon’s body away. “Is that a danger?” he asks. “You leave tomorrow.”

“Kira will be well enough to travel,” Wil says. He hesitates, glancing to Allanon. Bandon stands behind him, peeping around Wil as though using the half-Elf for a shield. “Right?”

“She should be,” Allanon agrees. “I imagine she’ll tie herself to the saddle if she isn’t.”

Arion looks ready to say something bitter and probably unhelpful, but the younger prince speaks first. “We can leave a detachment of the Guard here in the meantime,” Ander says.

“I will stay,” Arion says. Ander looks genuinely shocked, and Wil eyes the prince with suspicion, while Bandon just looks curious. “The Dagda Mor will send more spies once the Druids have left. She’s the only one who survived contact with the Changeling. I need to know about their kind.”

Though Allanon is loath to admit it, it’s a fair plan. “Very well,” he agrees tightly. “The king must be informed that the Changeling has been dealt with.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Ander says.

“I must see that the demon is disposed of properly,” Allanon says. “Bandon, with me.”

Wil tags along after him. “What about me?”

He pauses in the doorway. “Stay here,” he orders in a low voice, glancing back toward Prince Arion. “Keep an eye on him.”

 

Arion watches the Druid sleep as the half-Elf boy wanders around the workshop, clearing the mess of papers from the fight and pretending not to watch the Prince. It’s almost hard to hate her when she sleeps; something in the soft set of her mouth reminds him of Amberle’s mother. But he only needs to catch a glimpse of her ears to remind himself that the Druids are very, very different. 

The sun has begun to set between the western gate’s watchtowers by the time the Druid stirs. Her arm slides from her stomach as she shifts, and she hisses when her elbow thumps against the table. “Allanon…”

“He went to ensure the Changeling’s body was destroyed,” Arion says. The Druid rolls onto her side with a grimace, and he reaches to brace her shoulder. “Rest easy. You’re safe.”

“Kira!” Wil cries. The boy crosses the workshop at a run and skids the last few measures to the table, boots scrabbling for traction. “Are you okay? I mean, Allanon said you would be, but you looked so bad-”

The Druid takes the boy’s arm and allows him to help her into a sitting position. “You need to work on your compliments, Wil.” Her voice is hoarse.

“You were-” He gestures emphatically. “You  _ are _ covered in your own blood, it’s a natural thing to be worried!”

“I am here to worry about you, not the other way around.” Kira brushes fruitlessly at the blood crusted into the fabric of her dress. “Would you do me a favor and find Catania?”

“Clean clothes? Sure,” Wil says. He hesitates, though, glancing sidelong at Arion. “I mean, if you’re sure-”

“I can keep her safe,” Arion says. He’s all but daring the boy to admit his distrust, but the Druid intervenes.

“I am sure, Wil. Thank you.” She gives him a smile before patting his arm and nudging him toward the door. He walks away hesitantly, glancing back a few times. Kira watches him go, keeping the same reassuring smile until the door closes behind the boy. Once he’s gone, she lets the smile drop in favor of a faint scowl, pressing a hand against her ribs.

“The other Druid said you would be healed.” Arion can’t quite keep the note of accusation out of his voice. It wouldn’t be unlike Allanon to lie again.

“Healed, yes. Cured, no.” She gives him a wry look. “Don’t tell me you’ve never been sore and tired after a fight, Princeling.”

Arion bristles at the familiar term. “You should address your host with more respect.”

“When last I checked, your father was yet master of this house.” The Druid grins to soften the dismissal. She holds out a hand. “Would you help me down, Prince Arion?”

Years of etiquette training have Arion offering his arm before he thinks about it. The Druid takes it as delicately as any court maiden and leans on him for support as she slides off the table. Her knees buckle after a second, and Arion grabs her other arm to keep her upright. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be moving just yet.”

“I’ll be all right,” she insists. It takes her a moment to get her feet under her, but she straightens and pulls away from him. “Come, we have business to conduct.” As much as Arion dislikes being ordered to and fro like a child, he has little choice to do other than follow the Druid as she crosses the room. She pauses to snatch a length of bandage from one of the tables, and continues to the barrel of rainwater stored against the wall. “When we have gone, you will be Arborlon’s last line of defense,” Kira says as she dampens the bandage and starts to clean blood from her hands and arms. “It may be a day or two before the next Changeling reaches the city, but the Dagda Mor will send one. They are not a rare breed.”

“How can they be killed?”

The Druid sighs as she rolls up her sleeves, revealing more blood-streaked skin. “Lore will tell you that they can be ended as easily as any man, but this is not true. They can heal grievous wounds, and may go into hiding for weeks at a time. Even decapitation is not always enough.”

“Allanon said to burn the Changeling’s head and body separately.”

She nods. “To place them in a pyre together would run the risk of the Changeling regenerating itself.”

“And these things can be anyone or anything,” Arion says. He shakes his head. “How am I supposed to protect against them?”

“They cannot be absolutely anything.” Kira drapes the wet bandage over the edge of the barrel and starts to roll her sleeves back down. “A Changeling cannot greatly change its size. It might be any race, but not a- a warhorse or a housecat.”

Arion freezes as he realizes a horrifying possibility. “Manx.”

“Hmm?”

“My father’s dog. He weighs about the same as a man.”

“Then he could be imitated by a Changeling.” Kira cocks her head. “An experienced enough one, at least. Changelings can vary in their talent.” She does up the last button on her sleeve and waves vaguely. “If you think it a threat, perhaps exclude the dog from your War Council meetings.”

“You’re mocking a very serious situation!” Arion snarls.

Where any Elven subject would quail in the face of their Prince’s wrath, the Druid fixes him with a calm, cool stare. “Humor is the best path to controlling one’s fear,” she replies.

“You’re afraid?” Arion does his best not to startle at the suggestion, but he’s taken aback. “You’re- You’re a Druid!”

One corner of her mouth quirks up in a half-smile. “You take Allanon too much to be the average. He is a warrior, trained to be Paranor’s strong right arm. That is why you dislike him so strongly; he does not know the courtliness you take for granted. I am a scout, a scholar, and I fear. I fear my failure, and yours as well.”

The insult lodges in Arion’s gut like a barbed arrow, and he turns away. “I don’t have to take this from you.”

“Because you take it from your father instead?” Kira asks.

He halts a few steps away. “How do you…”

The Druid cocks her head. “You think he doesn’t love you, because you’re the middle child. The eldest had all his love, the youngest all his attention, and there was nothing left for you. But that’s not true.”

“Then what is true?” he asks through gritted teeth. He doesn’t want to hear this witch’s prophecies, but he’s drawn back to her almost against his will.

“You have his trust,” she says, soft but insistent. “You were to be the force behind Aine’s gentle heart, to keep safe not only your family but your kingdom. After he died, priorities shifted. This is why he sends Ander to Tyrsis. When Eventine is gone, you will need an experienced diplomat.”

“But he says I don’t deserve the throne!” He loathes the words as soon as they leave his mouth. He sounds like a child whining that someone stole away their toy.

“No man deserves a crown by right of blood.” Kira takes a step forward and reaches to touch his shoulder. “But if you protect this kingdom through the darkness that is coming, no one will claim you have not earned your station.”

“I- I don’t know how,” he admits quietly.

“Your father should never be without at least three guards. The same goes for yourself and Commander Tilton. Beyond that, fight as you would any war. Learn your enemy’s ways; weigh the lives of your citizens against your soldiers. And keep the enemy from their goal at all costs.” Kira pulls away, smiling and shaking her head. “I don’t actually know much more about war beyond that. You should speak to Allanon, as one warrior to another.”

“Rather than a Prince and a Druid?” Arion asks, returning her smile wryly.

“Precisely.” She looks over his shoulder as the door opens. “Hello, Catania.”

“My goodness, Wil was right,” the serving-girl fusses. “You do look terrible! Oh, er, Prince Arion-” She manages an awkward curtsey despite the bundle of clothes in her arms.

“I’ll excuse myself,” Arion says. He gives Kira a nod. “And I… believe I will take your advice.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Kira manages to return his nod before Catania sets upon her.

“Oh, but you’re a terrible mess,” the Elf girl says, already picking at the buttons of the ruined dress as Arion heads for the door.

“I know,” the Druid sighs. “It will probably have to be burned.”

The last thing Arion hears before he closes the door behind himself is Catania’s exasperated “ _ Probably _ ?”

 

It’s nearly midnight by the time Allanon returns to the workroom. He had expected it to be dark and abandoned, but it isn’t quite. The glow of a lone candle illuminates just enough for Kira to study the Codex, and turns the tail of hair tucked over her shoulder to red-gold. She looks up at the sound of the door, smiling when she sees him.

“I trust all is well?” she asks.

Allanon shrugs out of his leather coat as he approaches. With the Dagda Mor’s spy out of commission, he doesn’t need the enchanted protection it provides. It gives him an element of intimidation as well, sometimes, but he doesn’t need that in Kira’s presence. Her eyes seem to catch on the muscles of his arms for a moment before she looks back down at the Codex. “The Changeling is burned, and the ashes disposed of,” he says as he seats himself across the table from her. “Arion came to speak with me, as well.”

“Really?” Kira turns the page, feigning disinterest, but her lips twitch with a suppressed smile.

“I can see why you  _ try _ to be a talented liar,” he says, deadpan.

Kira blushes as she looks back up from the book. In the candlelight, with a flush on her cheeks, she looks like a chaste maiden rather than an ancient Druid Seer. “I’m sorry. Was he terrible?”

“In fact, he was almost polite,” Allanon admits, however grudgingly.

“Especially shocking when one considers that your version of ‘politeness’ could be called ‘utter obeisance’ by others.” Kira grins, and he rolls his eyes. “In honesty, he is afraid, and I hoped you could help him.”

Allanon nods. “I think I did.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Kira looks back to the Codex for a moment before closing it with a sigh. “Perhaps you can help me, as well.”

He startles himself by replying without thinking. “Of course.”

She rests her head in her hands. “I’ve prepared everything I could think of and I- I still don’t feel we’re ready.”

“This is the way of a quest,” Allanon says. He reaches to take her hands and fold them in his own. Concern radiates off her like heat from a flame, and he almost expects her touch to burn as she twines their fingers together. “We can only hope to pass whatever tests come.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Kira shakes her head before looking down at their hands. “You’re cold,” she says. “When did you last eat?”

“A few days.” He shakes his head dismissively. “I can do well enough without.”

“Just because you  _ can _ does not mean you should,” Kira teases. “You’ll need to keep your strength for the journey.”

Allanon pulls away, mock-scowling at her. “Shouldn’t I be telling you this? I was not stabbed today.”

“Not yet,” Kira calls as he steps away from the table, casting about for one of the saddle-bags of supplies. The light-hearted threat startles a laugh from him.

“Here.” Allanon returns to the candle’s circle of light with a fist-sized fruit he can’t exactly identify. “Will this please you?”

Kira blushes at the question. “Certainly it will,” she says. She glances away, then back again as Allanon takes his seat.

He meets her gaze before taking a bite. The fruit’s flesh is mealy and sweet beneath its bruise-colored skin, and he has to wipe a dribble of juice from his beard with the back of his hand. He can sense the flutter in Kira’s breast as he teases her: guilt and desire twisted together as tightly as rope. He chews slowly and swallows before deciding to take mercy on her. “I taught Bandon the essence of a mental shield earlier. I thought it better to let you rest.”

The redhead nods and takes a breath before responding. “He can practice on the road. I trust you weren’t too rough with him?”

“He is not a child, Kira.”

“He  _ is _ a child,” she insists as Allanon takes another bite of fruit. “You cannot break him to bridle like an unruly horse. He has seen enough pain; he does not need more from you.”

“I have not harmed the boy,” he says defensively. “You underestimate my skill as a teacher.”

“You overestimate his tolerance.” Kira snatches the fruit from Allanon’s hands and steals a bite.

“What happened to ‘You should eat’?” he asks, playing up his aggravation. Kira snickers through her mouthful and tosses the fruit back to him.

She wipes her mouth, but her lips still shine with juice when she speaks. “What happened to ‘You are the Far-Seer, you will be responsible for teaching the boy’?”

Allanon crunches through another bite of fruit before he raises a finger warningly. “I never said that.”

Kira mirrors his gesture. “You implied it.”

He scoffs, tossing the fruit to her in an effort to cut short her mimicry. Kira squeaks in surprise and almost fumbles it before catching it. “We are training the boy in a time of war. He needs to be strong.”

“You think he would have survived his gift so long if he was weak?” Kira sets the fruit on the table. “Teach him to fight, by all means, but don’t try to temper that which is already brittle.”

“That’s not how forging works.”

Kira makes a disgruntled noise and snatches the fruit back, winding up as though to throw it at him. “I know you’re a barbarian warrior, but even you understand a metaphor!”

Allanon laughs, throwing up his arms to shield himself. “All right, I yield!”

Kira laughs as well, dropping the fruit to the table. The two Druids share a quiet moment before she speaks again. “The boy is a good student. He will not fail us.”

“And hopefully we will not fail him,” Allanon agrees.


	8. The Arborlon Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party sets out for Tyrsis, and encounters only a little trouble along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations will be provided at the end of the chapter.

Eretria bundles herself deeper into her wooly cloak, half-squinting against the glare of the crystal lanterns that light the stableyard. She’s used to setting out before dawn, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it.

“Morning, Princess,” Wil calls. He tosses something to Amberle, who just nods in return. Hah. Looks like the little noble-lady likes an early wake-up call even less than Eretria does. “Morning, Grumpus,” Wil continues, ambling toward Eretria.

“What’s a ‘grumpus’ supposed to be?” she asks, partially muffled by her cloak.

“They’re easily identified by their furry coverings and scowling faces,” Wil teases. He fluffs the rabbit-fur lining of her hood.

“Really?” Eretria asks, deadpan. “Do they bite?”

Wil digs his hand into a pocket of his coat and comes up with something that steams fragrantly in the cool pre-dawn air. “Only sausage rolls.”

Her stomach growls loudly, and she snatches the roll out of his hand. “I take back every mean thing I ever said to you,” she says before stuffing most of the pastry into her mouth.

“Even the part about how I’m the stupidest half-Elf to ever be born?” Wil asks sarcastically.

“I meant ‘loveliest’,” Eretria claims, laying a smacking kiss on his cheek. Wil blushes and rubs crumbs from his face, while across the yard, something twists in the princess’s face. Ooh, that could be interesting.

The great gate at the far end of the stableyard begins to creak open before Eretria can push the issue further. The yard seems suddenly filled with a flurry of activity: Elven guardsmen clattering about with weapons, horses being led to and fro, and servants scurrying around the edges of it all. Wil says something she can’t hear over the bustle and vanishes into the crowd. She considers following him before deciding better of it. If she doesn’t move, they might forget her and she won’t have to go.

No such luck. Wil returns after a moment leading two horses, a bay with a white blaze and a taller buckskin. “Here.” He offers her the buckskin’s reins. “Stablemaster said her name’s Nimye, and, I quote, ‘she’s got some kick’.”

“Good.” Eretria takes the mare’s reins and holds out a hand for the horse to smell. “So do I.”

“That seems an understatement.” Kira grins down at Wil and Eretria from the back of a slender grey horse. The Seer-boy, Bandon, is seated behind her, and seems to be clinging to the Druid’s waist. “Come, we’re to be at the head of the column.”

“How ya doin’ up there, farm-boy?” Eretria calls.

“I hate horses,” Bandon says, speaking mostly to Kira’s cloak. “And horses hate me. So, not good. Not- not good.”

Kira shakes her head, stifling a smile as she pats Bandon’s knee. “I’ll see you at the gate,” she tells Wil and Eretria before she turns her mount away, riding toward the dark figure of the other Druid on his black warhorse.

“Need a leg up?” Wil asks. Eretria eyes her horse critically for a second; the buckskin has several hands of height on her last horse, and the odds of a convenient tree-stump seem low.

“Only because the sun isn’t up yet,” she claims. Wil chuckles as he cups his hands for her to step into, and hefts her into the saddle with little effort. “What do you know, you’re stronger than you look.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” he says.

Eretria just laughs and follows Kira.

Just outside the gate, the two Druids stand close to each other, watching the preparations. As she gets closer, Eretria can make out what Allanon’s saying: “ _Fi Yoanath,_ _hi yu yoriyólek shil chi shi Elkris_.”

Kira shakes her head. “ _Ten len izhak. E vesluk_ -”

“It’s rude to have a conversation in a language other people don’t know,” Eretria announces.

“ _Mi an bal hus thiram jof hi yu jak shil_ ,” Allanon says, staring her down.

“She’s right, it is rude.” Kira smirks when he turns his glare on her.

“What were you talking about?” Eretria asks.

“The weather,” Allanon says.

Eretria lays a hand on her chest dramatically. “When you lie that blatantly, it hurts me right here.”

Kira snorts in laughter. “Sorry,” she says when Allanon glares at her again, and fakes a cough. The effect is ruined when she breaks into giggles. The other Druid rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the mustering troops.

“If you keep laughing like that, I’m going to fall off,” Bandon grumbles. Kira pats his leg in reassurance.

Eretria nudges her horse closer. “So, if he has visions when he touches people, how are you riding together?”

Kira gives her an amused look. “Child, I spent more years training my shields than you have lived.”

“It’s kinda weird.” Bandon lifts his head to rest his chin on Kira’s shoulder. “Like the part I would normally be getting visions from is covered in… something green and fuzzy.”

“Grass?” Kira suggests.

“No, more like a blanket.”

“Sorry to interrupt this terribly strange conversation,” Eretria says. “But how do you know it’s green?”

Bandon shrugs. “I just do.”

“Druids usually establish a color that their spells take on,” Kira says. “It’s part of developing their magic. Mine is green. Allanon’s is blue, if it is yet the same as before.”

“ _Thiram hish u for thil?_ ” Allanon says distractedly.

“ _Mi an bal hus!_ ” She gestures in exasperation. “You’re in a terrible mood.”

“ _E yad an enísa shi, e yenola verana_ ,” he mutters.

“That’s a- a very impolite thing to say!” Kira seems genuinely insulted, and Allanon looks at least a little contrite when he glances at her.

“I apologize. But it was a foolish thought,” he says.

“I slept three hundred years,” Kira replies. “Forgive me the occasional foolish question.”

“You slept- hang on, what?” Eretria leans forward.

“I thought I told you about that,” Wil says as he stops his horse beside her.

Amberle flounces past on a pretty white charger. “I guess you were too busy getting caught up on other things.” Ooh, Princess is definitely the jealous sort.

One of the ponciest-looking Elves Eretria has ever had the misfortune of seeing follows Amberle out of the stableyard. “We’re moving out,” he calls over the sound of a horn blowing from the nearby watchtower.

“Tell her the story, Wil,” Kira says before nudging her mount to a trot. “I was unconscious for most of it.”

 

Kira guides her horse to pull away from the group and rides ahead to flank the Guard Captain. Edensong gives her a polite nod as she falls in beside him. It’s only a moment before another rider approaches, though.

“ _You feel badly about your time away from action_ ,” Allanon says.

“ _If I wanted you to tell me how I feel, I would ask_ ,” Kira snaps.

“ _You have nothing to be ashamed of_.”

“ _I could have helped!_ ”

Edensong clears his throat nervously. “I’ll, uh, ride ahead,” he says before directing his horse to a canter.

Kira forces herself to take a breath as Allanon settles into position beside her. “ _I feel lost. Paranor became my home over the years. I don’t know what to do, where to go._ ”

“ _Safehold, first_ ,” Allanon says, attempting to joke. When Kira doesn’t respond, he tries again. “ _You have the boy to teach, and this quest to protect._ ”

“ _I have you,_ ” Kira says without thinking.

“ _You do_.” Allanon ignores her blush politely. After a moment, he leans back in his saddle. “ _Is the boy asleep?_ ”

Kira glances over her shoulder at Bandon. He’s mostly tucked himself under the hood of her cloak, but he does seem to be sleeping. “ _Are you envious?_ ” she teases.

“ _Terribly_ ,” Allanon says, deadpan. He smiles a little at Kira’s laugh. “ _Don’t let him sleep too long. He must learn to shield himself properly, and soon._ ”

“ _Deliver me, sacred fire,_ ” Kira replies, echoing his earlier declaration.

Allanon smirks. “ _That’s very impolite._ ”

The forest of the Westland grows thinner the further they ride from Arborlon, with scarcer wildlife as the trees change from live oaks and young sequoias to tougher pines. Kira can feel Allanon calculating the risk of attack at every turn: the evergreens protect them from a Fury _here_ but a Changeling could shelter behind the fallen tree _there_ ; the river prevents a Rover attack _there_ but could attract Trolls; the hill ahead is high ground to fall back to once they push beyond _here_. After a few hours, Kira reclaims her hood from Bandon and pulls it up in the hope of blocking Allanon out. It doesn’t work, precisely, but he gets a sense of her irritation and puts up a shield.

It’s almost noon when Amberle canters past the Druids to catch Captain Edensong. “How far away is the fort at Drey Wood?” she asks. Kira nudges her hood back to listen.

“The rest of this day’s ride, then another,” the captain says. “Not more than fifteen leagues.”

“You plan to keep to the forest road?” Kira calls.

Amberle and Edensong glance back at her. “I do, Lady Druid,” the captain calls back. “It is the faster route, and my men can protect us from any assault.”

She looks to Allanon. “ _I imagine you have thoughts on this?_ ”

He sighs, and she watches as he thinks. “Trading safety for speed is wise, in these circumstances. Can you set wards on the camp tonight?”

“I can.” She switches to Noalath before continuing, “ _They will not be my best._ ”

Allanon nods. “It will do well enough.”

Edensong looks pleased with their approval. “There’s a spring ahead,” he says. “We’ll stop and rest the horses.”

Kira lets the captain and the princess settle into a conversation before she shakes Bandon’s leg. “Wake up, child.”

“I’m ‘wake,” he slurs, utterly unconvincing.

Kira can see Allanon smirking out of the corner of her eye. She pulls a face at him, and waits for him to ride ahead before she shakes Bandon again. “Come on, boy. It’s nearly noon. You’ve had enough rest.”

“Okay,” Bandon mumbles. He lifts his head from her back and sniffles. “Where’re we?”

“Nearly five leagues from Arborlon,” Kira says. “Generally regarded as the middle of nowhere, at least as far as the Westland goes.”

“Mm. Okay.” Bandon yawns and stretches his arms. Without his death-grip on the Druid’s waist, he lurches in his seat. Kira twists quickly and grabs him by the front of his shirt before he falls from the horse. “I hate this,” he complains as he clutches at her again. “How long are we going to be riding?”

Kira shakes her head, trying not to smile. “Today? Four or five hours, I imagine. To our goal? A great deal longer.”

“I hate this,” Bandon repeats, resting his forehead against her shoulder.

“You’ll be fine, child.” She ruffles his hair and earns a faint grumble. “Why don’t you talk to Wil when we camp for the night? He’d be willing to teach you a little about riding.”

“I don’t know.” Bandon pauses, then continues more quietly. “I wasn’t ever supposed to be around the horses at home. I could make them spook, just by being there.”

Kira nods in understanding. “Sometimes animals have a keener sense for magic than men do. Once you learn to carry a shield-spell without thinking about it, you’ll have an easier time with horses.”

“Allanon tried to teach me about mental shields yesterday, but I- I didn’t do very well. I’m too stupid,” he says, mumbling the last.

“I think you’re very bright, Bandon,” Kira says. “You’ve taught yourself a very rough form of shielding, and now you must recognize it before you can continue.”

“I don’t understand. I only know the shield that you taught me the other day-” He cuts himself off with a squeak as Kira nudges their mount to a halt. The spring ahead is sheltered by an outcropping of granite, with ferns and mosses softening the rocky banks. Amberle and the guard captain have already dismounted to let their horses drink, but Allanon is nowhere in sight.

“I’ll give you a moment to stretch your legs before we continue,” Kira says. “Do you need help down?”

“No, I- I think I can do it.” Bandon shifts, throwing a leg over the horse’s hindquarters and clinging to the saddle as he slides from the grey mare’s back. He stumbles a little, but keeps his footing. Kira waits for him to step back before she dismounts, rather more gracefully.

“How’re you doing, farm-boy?” Eretria calls as she leads her horse toward them. “Is your ass sore yet?”

Bandon scowls. “Now that you mention it, yes.”

“You get used to it,” Wil says, trailing after Eretria. He pauses beside Kira. “Do you want me to take your horse?”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.” She gives Wil a smile as she hands over the reins. He blushes a little, not quite meeting her eyes. “Did you see where Allanon went?”

“Oh, uh- that way, I think.” Wil gestures toward the hilltop and hurries away after Eretria.

“Stay near the group,” Kira orders Bandon. “Find something to eat if you like. I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay.” Bandon sets off toward the spring.

Kira watches him go for a second before turning to climb the hill. He’s a sweet child, and so very much at risk that she cannot bear to warn him. If he was an early bloomer like many True-Seers were said to be, he may have struggled with his gift since before he could speak in full sentences. Yet his instinctive shield was enough to hide him from the Dagda Mor even as Demons set upon his home. If he were any weaker, he would be dead. Or worse.

A twig snaps behind her. She has her spear called to her hand before she’s even turned fully, but catches herself from slashing at Allanon. He regards her with a raised eyebrow. “Do you greet all of your friends so?”

“Only those foolish enough to startle me.” Kira taps the butt of her spear against the ground before letting it fold back up into the crystal haft. “What are you doing out here?”

“I remember this area. There should be a mirror-shrine on the ridge.” He gestures ahead, uphill. “It might allow us to see the Dagda Mor’s location.”

She sighs and tucks her spear’s haft back into the sash of her dress. “I am willing to try, but I give you no guarantees. I scried for him a half-dozen times in Arborlon and saw nothing.”

“Surely the only thing we may do is try,” Allanon says, setting out to lead the way.

Kira scoffs as she scrambles after him. “Simply because you have an apprentice does not give you the right to spout platitudes like one of the Old Masters.”

“What would give me the right?” He pauses on a stone outcrop to offer a hand.

“Absolutely nothing, in my opinion,” she says as he heaves her up the steep slope. “I loathed all of their proverbs.”

“Finally something we agree upon.” Allanon scans the small area of flat land at the summit of the hill before approaching a large, warped willow. “It should be- yes, here.” He lifts one of the boughs for Kira, and follows her into the sheltered area beneath the tree’s branches. In the shade of the willow’s leaves, the tarnished bronze mirror set into the tree’s trunk is barely visible.

“ _Reveal yourself_ ,” Kira murmurs before touching the mirror. The bronze seems to ripple beneath her hand, growing cleaner until it shines brightly. “How long has it been since you saw a Druid, my friend?” The willow sighs, leaves quivering as though touched by a breeze. Kira places her hands on the tree’s bark, framing the mirror. “Show me Drey Wood,” she asks.

“I doubt the Dagda Mor will be there,” Allanon says, faintly snide.

She pulls away from the tree to look at her companion. “After so long without care, the shrine may have lost its accuracy. If you don’t mind allowing me to test it first…”

He folds his arms. “Very well.” He’s reluctant to admit his thoughts, but willing to let her sense: _has he used a mirror-shrine since he sought the Eilt Druin with Bremen? No, not a true one. When he searched the Westlands for Shea, it was with a crystal-mere, wasn’t it?_

Kira reaches out to flick a stray lock of hair out of Allanon’s eyes. “They’re fussy things and require attention. Not unlike myself.” She turns back to the tree, enjoying the sense of warmth that pools in her stomach at his chuckle. “Drey Wood,” she asks again before laying her hands on the willow. The mirror seems to ripple again, then-

_Blood pools on the slate cobbles, drips from the thatched eaves, dribbles down the rough-plastered walls. Civilians are scattered in pieces across the market, not a breathing soul left alive. A red trail of destruction leads to the gate of the fort, smashed to charred splinters by a single great blow._

_A Fury circles over the fort while two more gorge themselves on Elf-flesh in the bailey-yard. A lone Elven soldier marches back and forth over the barbican, eyes flashing silver-and-red as the Changeling giggles to itself. And in the shadows of the ruined stables, the leader of the band of demons clenches its clawed hands, lifts its head to scent the air, can almost taste the blood of a Druid-_

She jerks back, almost falling before a pair of rough hands catch her. “What did you see?” Allanon asks, holding her tight to his chest as she struggles to regain her footing.

Kira curls her fingers into the lapels of his coat, fighting to calm her racing heart. “The Reaper. The Dagda Mor has called the Reaper.”

“That’s not possible.” He nudges her back to look down at her.

“He is stronger than either of us thought.” Kira shakes her head, pulling away. “If I scry for him, he will see me. He will touch me, and I will be lost- Allanon, I cannot.”

“You don’t know that,” he says, reaching for her.

“You don’t know the Sight!” Hurt flickers in Allanon’s eyes at her outburst, before his shield raises as definitively as a door closing. Kira flinches as he lowers his hand. “I am sorry,” she says more softly. “I cannot.”

“You will not,” he corrects, jaw set grimly.

“I will not.” Kira swallows, dropping her gaze from his. “I- I must tell Edensong that Drey Wood is overrun.”

Allanon nods sternly and does not move to follow her as she goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Fi Yoanath, hi yu yoriyólek shil chi shi Elkris.” - As for the princess, I will make her answer to the Ellcrys.  
> “Ten len izhak. E vesluk-” - There is time yet. Allow-  
> “Mi an bal hus thiram jof hi yu jak shil.” - I do not know why she follows us.  
> “Thiram hish u for thil?” - Why would it change?  
> “Mi an bal hus!” - I do not know!  
> “E yad an enísa shi, e yenola verana.” - Deliver me, o sacred fire.


	9. The Drey Wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension builds as the group plans to face the Demons at the Drey Fort head-on.

The camp is quiet, half-asleep in the twilight as the last light of sunset fades. Captain Edensong is pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Allanon, poring over a map. Wil and Bandon are tending the horses; nearby, Eretria’s curled up with Wil’s jacket for a pillow. The only member of the party outside the circle of firelight is Kira. Amberle hesitates half a second, gathering her courage, before stepping toward the Druid. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Kira looks up from her sketchbook with a jerk. She relaxes a little when she recognizes Amberle, and closes her journal. “Not at all.” She gestures to the other end of the blanket laid out as protection from the hard dirt. “Please.”

“I noticed you didn’t get any supper,” Amberle says, handing over one of the two bowls of stew before she sits down.

“Your thoughtfulness is a boon upon your house, Princess.” Kira gives her a polite nod before taking the spoon from the bowl.

“You don’t have to do that,” Amberle says with a laugh. “Maybe for Arion, but not for me. You’re much more deserving of respect than I am.”

“You are the last of the Chosen, a rare breed in the fairest of times,” Kira says. “My kind is-” She stops, looking down at the bowl in her hands. “Or was. My kind was very common.”

“It’s hard to believe Druids were once common.” Kira doesn’t respond, digging into the stew with the methodical single-mindedness that can only come of avoiding a subject. Amberle’s familiar with the maneuver; she’s used it herself at many a family dinner when her uncles started to argue. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

Kira swallows her mouthful before she nods. “Certainly, Princess.”

“What happened between you and Allanon?”

The Druid looks down into her bowl. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“The two of you have spent-” Amberle waves her spoon in the air, calculating quickly. “What, all of twelve hours apart in the four days since you woke? Catania told me you were even sleeping in shifts so the other could keep watch. And then today: we stop at the spring, you vanish together, and refuse to talk afterward.” She pauses, staring the Druid down inquisitively. “Did the two of you _do_ something?”

Kira coughs up a chunk of potato. “Merciful gods, don’t think that so loudly.” Amberle stuffs a spoonful of stew into her mouth to keep down a giggle, while Kira scrapes the bottom of her bowl. After a moment, she sighs and sets it aside. “We had an argument. Allanon asked me to do something I deemed too dangerous, and I refused.”

Amberle speaks around her mouthful. “It wasn’t-”

Kira snatches up her leather-bound journal and swats the Princess’s shoulder with it. “Stop that!”

Amberle gulps down her food before breaking into giggles. “All right, sorry.”

The redhead sighs as the Elf returns to her supper. “He thinks-” She stops for a moment, tracing the runic tattoo on the inside of her left wrist before continuing in a quieter voice. “He doesn’t understand how dangerous the Sight can be. He thinks I am a coward.”

“If you were a coward, you would’ve stayed in Arborlon instead of showing us the way to Safehold,” Amberle says.

Kira’s chuckle is dry and humorless. “Feel free to tell Allanon that.”

“Why don’t _you_ tell him?” Amberle presses.

“Because…” Kira shakes her head. “Because perhaps he is right. I respect him greatly, and am wounded to have fallen in his estimation. But I am… too hesitant, too hurt, to say so.”

“But he’s wrong!”

“But he is my friend.” Kira looks down at her tattoo again. “He is still angry. Perhaps I will try as you suggest at a later time, Princess.”

“All right, then.” Amberle sets her bowl aside with a sigh. “What’s that? Some sort of Rover mark, like Eretria’s?”

“Hmm? Oh.” Kira follows Amberle’s gaze to the symbol on her arm. “No, this is a Druid Mark. You’ve seen some of Allanon’s, haven’t you?” She gestures at her head, mimicking his runic scars.

“But yours are inked?”

“Allanon is of the Warrior Order. Traditionally, they have their runes cut into their bodies as a sign of-” Kira shakes her head disapprovingly. “Courage and fortitude, I believe.”

“What do they mean?” Amberle reaches out, and Kira allows her to take her arm and study the mark. The design on the inside of the Druid’s wrist resembles two triangles set on end, with their points joined in the middle. The lines are straight, unwavering, and a deep black color.

“That one is the Druid Chain. It-” She stops and swallows. “It once connected all of the Druids, allowing us to communicate across vast distances.” Kira pulls her arm back and begins to roll down the sleeve of her dress.

“But now there’s only you and Allanon,” Amberle says softly.

“Yes.” Kira fixes the button and folds up the sleeve on her other arm. “Here. This one is the sign of the Spirit Forge.”

Amberle holds the Druid’s hand and examines the rune. It’s in the same place as the Druid Chain, but a different mark: two parallel lines, one half the height of the other, connected by a slash that continues off to a point equal to the bottom of the lines. As with the other, it’s almost mesmerizing in its meticulousness. “What does it do?”

“It allows me the use of my weapon.” Kira draws a slim rod from the sash of her dress. In the twilight, it seems to swirl with smoke as a crystal ball might. “To anyone without the attuned mark, this is little more than a stick.” She twirls the shaft between her fingers like a rogue playing a knife trick before grasping it tight.

Amberle gasps as the grip expands with a shimmering, ringing sound into a spear as long as the Druid is tall. The haft is the same quartz-like stone as the rod was, and tipped with a slender steel spear-head. “That’s incredible!”

Kira laughs, loosening her grip and allowing the spear to settle back into a rod. “It was uncommon, even in my day.” She leans toward Amberle to speak in a conspiratorial tone. “I like to show it off more than I should.”

Amberle covers her mouth as she giggles.

“You should get some rest, Princess.” Kira’s smile is tender, and she reaches to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Amberle’s pointed ear.  “We have a hard day’s ride ahead of us before we reach Drey Wood.”

Amberle catches Kira’s hand as she lowers it. “What did you see, when you scried on the fort?”

The Druid’s expression falls, and Amberle squeezes her hand. “There were no survivors. I will not give you details beyond that.”

Amberle swallows against the lump in her throat. “More people dead, because of me.” She drops Kira’s hand to scrub at her eyes with her sleeve.

“Enough, child,” Kira says gently. She tugs Amberle’s hands away from her face and wipes away the few tears that have spilled onto her cheeks. “People will _live_ because of you, if you do your duty.”

“I’m trying!” She gulps again before continuing more quietly. “I’m scared. I never wanted any of this.”

“I will tell you a secret, if you promise to keep it.” Kira waits for Amberle to nod. “I felt the same way when I was sent to Paranor.”

Amberle sniffs and rubs at her nose. “You didn’t want to be a Druid?”

“I had no choice,” Kira says, shaking her head. “As a Seer, I could train or die. But I adapted. I learned quickly. I made friends.”

“Was Allanon one of your friends at Paranor?” Amberle folds her hands in her lap and leans forward. Wil said something about the Druids reading minds, so she puts all of her _tell me a story_ at the front of her thoughts.

Kira laughs. “No, not really. He was about five years older then, and already in training when I arrived. Far too dignified to have any interest in any of the silly little apprentices in my cohort. I heard many tales of his mischief, though.”

“Mischief?” Amberle repeats. “ _Allanon_?”

The Druid smiles. “He was a wild spirit. I think he did not take well to being bound within the walls of the keep, and fought his frustration in very creative ways.”

“Like what? Just tell me one,” Amberle wheedles.

“And give you ideas? I don’t think so.” Kira shakes her head, her smile turning sad. “No, what I meant to tell you is- you remind me very much of one of my dearest friends.”

“Who was that?”

“She was an Elf girl like you. She had the same lovely dark hair, actually. Her name was Nissa.” Kira cocks her head. “She was afraid of the power that lay in her hands as well. But she learned to control it, and used it to help many people.”

“And you think I can do the same,” Amberle says softly. She looks down at her lap, the same self-doubt as ever swirling in her head: _How can she be meant to carry the Ellcrys’ seed when she fled her duty? How can she be meant to protect her people when she can barely protect herself? How-_

“Child.” Kira reaches out to tip Amberle’s chin up. “I know you can.”

She gives the Druid a smile that’s only a little bit shaky. “You’re much better at this than Allanon.”

Kira returns the princess’s smile and leans forward to kiss her forehead. “Go to bed,” she commands gently. “Dawn will come early.”

 

Something tugs at Eretria’s sense of danger, even before she notices the sign on the path ahead. Of course. She should’ve remembered the area. Thank goodness the second day of travel has dawned clear; if there was a strong wind, they’d be dead already.

“Hey, hold up!” No one in the convoy pays Eretria any heed, although the Druids do at least glance back at her. She growls and kicks her mount to a canter, breaking her way through the lines until she comes to a halt under the Guard Captain’s nose, forcing him to pull up short. “I said stop.”

“Can I help you, _Rover_?” the Captain asks scornfully. It’s not the first time she’s heard the term used like a curse word, and it probably won’t be the last.

“Yeah. You can not wander off and get yourself killed while I’m being paid to keep you safe.” Eretria catches Kira’s eye and gestures at the Elf. “I mean, is he in on the contract or what?”

Kira shrugs one shoulder noncommittally.

“What is it?” Allanon asks.

Eretria gestures at the faded metal sign tacked onto a pine bough. “Skull and crossed-bones don’t mean ‘danger’ in Elvish?”

“I don’t obey trail-signs that could have been put up by anyone,” the Captain says. “For all we know, it could be leading us into an ambush away from the road.”

“Fine.” Eretria doesn’t roll her eyes, but it’s a near thing. “You wanna see for yourself? C’mon.” She nudges Nimye to a trot and leads the way, breaking away from the road to reach the top of a low ridge looking out on a small, marshy valley.

Wil halts his bay at her side. He looks out over the area, examining the rust-red soil and half-buried metal barrels with his usual naive curiosity. “Is it all poisoned?” he asks.

“Probably,” Eretria agrees cheerfully. She points at a spout of what might be steam or smoke, rising from the ground and wavering in the faint breeze. “See that? Even the air’s dangerous down there.”

“Three thousand years, and ancient humans are still doing their best to ruin the world,” the Guard Captain says. He looks back at the Druids, both riding closely behind him. “You have magic. Could you fix it?”

Allanon only shakes his head, but Kira offers a placid smile. “Certainly, Captain. Do you have two weeks of time and a dairy cow?”

The elf scowls as Eretria snickers. “I’ll take that as a no,” he grumbles.

“I would suggest we go around,” Allanon says.

The Captain’s glower deepens as he and Allanon turn back to the group. Wil trots after them eagerly, but Eretria follows more slowly, falling in beside Kira. “Two weeks and a cow,” she chortles. “That was damn funny.”

Kira just cocks her head. “I really would be able to clear the area with the correct supplies.”

“Including a cow?” Eretria shakes her head, still laughing.

“Milk is an integral part of many purification rituals,” the Druid says primly.

“Oh, come on. You can tell me the truth.” Eretria leans over to stage-whisper to Kira. “You just wanted to see his face when you smacked his pompous ass down.”

Kira gathers up her reins and pauses a moment before admitting, “They’re not mutually exclusive.” Eretria’s victorious cackle earns her a glare from Amberle, and an indulgent smile from the Druid. “I’m proud of you for taking your job seriously. No one would have known about the danger there if you hadn’t spoken up.”

“Why do I suspect there’s another part to this?” Eretria wonders out loud.

“Because you’ve been taught to be paranoid,” Kira says. “Also, because there is.”

“It’s not paranoia if you’re right,” Eretria says. Kira gives her a flat look of disapproval, but she waves it away. “Fine. What is it?”

“We plan to split the group before reaching Drey Wood,” Kira says quietly. “If the battle does not go well, you and the princess may have to ride to Tyrsis on your own.”

“You think you’re all going to die? That sounds like a good reason not to engage the Demons.”

Kira shakes her head. “If we do not face them head-on and defeat them now, they will track us along our entire journey. I don’t _think_ we will fail, but it is best to lay out contingency plans.”

“Fine,” Eretria grumbles. “So we ride to Tyrsis alone, hopefully don’t get murdered on the way, and then what? You’re the only one who knows the road to Safehold.”

“The Border Legion possesses a cache of maps from the time when I explored the outskirts of the Four Lands. One of them will show you the way.” Kira hesitates, shifting in her saddle. “I’ve never known the Legion to choose a Commander who isn’t a fairly wise, level-headed person, but if they haven’t, you may be refused access to the maps. I give you my permission to claim status as an Agent of Paranor.”

“I’m no Druid,” Eretria says with a laugh.

But Kira shakes her head again. “Agents of Paranor were not always trained to use magic, although some were. More often they were spies and scouts, or guards and escorts. You most certainly qualify for the position.” The Druid gives her a gently appraising look. For once, Eretria doesn’t feel like she’s been weighed and found wanting.

 

Even with his back turned, Drey Wood looms large over Bandon. He fusses with the mare’s reins, pretending to check that she’s tied to the tree branch securely. The horse whickers softly and nudges her nose into his hand. Wil’s suggestion to carry apple chips in his pockets has certainly done a lot to earn him the horse’s affection. He pets her velvety muzzle obediently, even as his thoughts continue to whirl.

There’s so much that could go wrong in this plan. Did Kira see the Demons’ numbers right? Have they been reinforced in the day it took to reach Drey Wood? What if they couldn’t draw the Reaper out? What if the Furies attacked first? What if the Guards missed the Changeling-

“Enough, Bandon.” Kira waits for him to turn and see her before she touches his shoulder. He shivers a little at the contact, expecting a vision as always and running up against her shields instead. He’s started to find the sense of green-tinted blankness filling his Sight a comfort, even more than physical touch. Kira smiles at him gently. “You have not seen our death yet. Do not look for it.”

“I just- I’m-” He swallows back a little boy’s _I’m scared_ and says instead, “I don’t want to lose you or Allanon. It seems like such a dangerous plan.”

“It would be far more dangerous for someone else to go up against the Reaper.” She cups his cheeks. “Don’t fear, sweet boy. You are here to watch and learn.”

“I don’t want to watch you die!”

Kira’s disappointed look hurts more than if she’d responded to his outburst with anger. “Bandon…”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He pushes her hands away. “I’m supposed to control my emotions and I just-”

“It’s all right. You’re still learning.” Kira reaches out to touch his arm, but pulls back, folding her hands in front of her instead. “Tell me your part in this, so I know you remember.”

“Wil and I take cover,” Bandon recites. “Prince Ander blows the horn and then rides back to meet Amberle and Eretria. You and Allanon draw out the Reaper. Crispin leads the Home Guard into the fort to fight the Furies and the Changeling. Once the Reaper’s weak enough, Wil uses the Elfstones to take it down.”

Kira nods. “There is one more thing.” She hesitates before continuing, “If Allanon and I both fall, don’t drop your shield, no matter what. Take Wil and find the girls.”

“If you-” He swallows against a lump that’s materialized in his throat. “If you _fall_ , or if you-”

“Bandon…” Kira sighs, looking away. “I wish I could have taught you more before we came to this moment.”

“Please tell me you don’t-” Bandon cuts himself off, glancing to one side instinctively, a second before Allanon is visible there between the trees. “You don’t think you’re going to die here?”

“We will face our duty no matter what comes,” Kira says as the other Druid approaches.

“It is almost nightfall,” Allanon says. “ _Hi nad go nömath an adhus. Mi bala an horna ü choap_.”

“I know.” Kira glances to the side, not quite looking at Allanon. “I will be with you.”

“We are needed now,” the Druid presses.

Kira’s hand shakes a little as she touches Bandon’s shoulder. “Take care, sweet boy,” she says before turning to follow Allanon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Hi nad go nömath an adhus. Mi bala an horna ü choap.” - Our fates have already been written. You cannot protect the boy.


	10. The Drey Fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said they didn't get in trouble? I lied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is explicit violence and non-explicit sexual content in this chapter. Noalath translations are provided at the end.

“ _You are prepared for this battle?_ ” Allanon asks as they cross through the forest toward the Drey Wood road.

“ _I stand with you_ ,” Kira replies. Through the gloom, she can just make out the shapes of the Elven Hunters, mounted and ready for their chance to charge. Before they reach the track where the Prince waits, she catches Allanon by the sleeve and pulls him to stop. “ _That I refused to scry does not mean I do not respect you, Allanon. You are one of the greatest warriors the Four Lands has ever known. But there are some things beyond your knowledge._ ”

Allanon frowns, staring ahead instead of looking at Kira. “ _You speak truly,_ ” he says. “ _Yet we need every advantage we may find in this war._ ”

“ _Is it not more of an advantage to have me at your side than to know his location?_ ” Kira asks. She tries to make the question sound teasing, but an element of desperation seeps into her tone.

His expression softens slightly as he looks down at her. “ _Of course._ ” He sighs, and covers her hand with his. “ _You are my friend as well as the last of my kind. I will value your word._ ”

“ _As I value yours._ ” Impulsively, Kira stands on her toes to kiss Allanon’s cheek. She pulls away and walks toward the road quickly, but she can feel his eyes on her back for a moment before he follows.

Ander’s horse prances under him, sensing the prince’s disquiet as easily as the Druids. Kira lays a hand on the gelding’s neck, stroking gently until he calms. “Is all made ready?” Ander asks, voice tight with nerves.

Kira glances back to Allanon, who nods. “You need only give the signal,” he says. “We will handle the rest.”

“Very well, then.” Ander clicks his tongue, guiding his white horse to walk to the tree-line, clearly visible from the fort. He raises the Guard-Captain’s horn and blows a short blast. A long moment of silence passes before the gates of the outer wall begin to open.

“Hold,” Kira orders as the prince gathers up his reins. “Hold until you see it.”

Ander obeys, crouching a little in the saddle. Abruptly, he stiffens. “What is that?” he breathes.

“The Reaper,” Allanon says as the giant armored figure steps forward. It appears wreathed in smoke, and the dimness of dusk makes the fire that seems to burn within its ribcage visible at a distance. With a battle-axe in each hand and a massive horned helmet atop its shoulders, it looks every inch the mythic monster it is. “Fall back while you can. The battle is begun.”

The battlefield is draped with wisps of fog and speckled with mirror-like marshy puddles that quiver under the Reaper’s heavy, stilted tread as it advances. The scene is silent, other than the fading gait of the prince’s horse and a lone blackbird singing into the twilight. Kira clasps Allanon’s arm tightly as he moves forward, pressing through the treeline to present himself as a target. He stops there and looks down at her as she grips his shoulder. “ _E zhornar thil,_ _e heath an Oros,_ ” she says softly. A green flash lights the fog eerily as the protection charm activates.

The Reaper laughs, a guttural and rasping noise that pulls Kira’s attention away from her comrade. “ _It is my honor to end you, Druid,_ ” it calls.

Allanon’s sword rings in his hand, sending glittering golden sparks of light dancing through the mist. “ _You should have chosen not to ally with the Dagda Mor,_ ” he says as he steps forward. “ _Then you might have lived, Reaper._ ”

Kira calls her spear as the Demon and the Druid approach each other. How many more steps until it reaches the halfway point to the forest? Three more? If it stops first- If it swings for Allanon-

“ _I will break you and suck the marrow from your bones_ ,” the Reaper says, laughing. It twirls one of its axes as easily as a twig of cedar.

Allanon flourishes his sword in response, executing a duelist’s bow. The Reaper takes a step forward, and- “ _Rak, Kira!_ ” _Now!_

Kira twists, dragging the point of her spear across the earth in a half-circle to draw power. “ _Lof ash hus yenola fem!_ ” She drops to one knee at the last syllable of the spell, as much to keep herself from falling at the drain on her magic as to stabilize the blast of Druid Fire that explodes across the field.

The Reaper screams as it’s enveloped in green flame, a high, thin sound that reverberates between the forest and the walls of the fort. The Elven Hunters take their cue, and the Reaper’s scream is soon drowned out by the beat of pounding hooves as the Home Guard charges. Riding as two groups, the soldiers avoid the fight at the center of the field and press through the gate into the fort itself.

As the fire fades, the Reaper stumbles forward a step and falls to one knee. It seems to steam in the cool air, grey smoke from its ragged garments contrasting to the black soot put out by the red flame at its heart. Allanon moves closer cautiously, sword held at a guard.

Kira reaches for her signal crystal, ready to warn Allanon against getting too close; the Reaper is too strong to be more than slightly wounded by a lone attack with Druid Fire. Before she can so much as touch the crystal, though, the Reaper slashes to the side blindly. Allanon jumps back, barely avoiding the attack.

The Reaper plants one of its axes in the mud and pushes itself to its feet while Allanon moves back. Most of the rags beneath its armor have been blasted away, and the bones of its ribs gleam white through the ash. “ _So the little Druid I scented is here as well,_ ” it rumbles. “ _Her magic will not protect her._ ”

“ _You will not have the chance to touch her_ ,” Allanon says with a snarl. He leaps forward, parrying one of the Reaper’s blades aside and pressing too close to be struck by the other as he slashes at the Reaper’s abdomen. It roars in fury, hacking wildly as Allanon drops and rolls away.

Kira digs the butt of her spear into the dirt, drawing deep on the power of the earth. She’ll regret it tomorrow, when the price comes calling, but she cannot stand and watch while Allanon fights alone. “ _Oros, lof ash hus shef_ ,” she says softly. “ _E thurumör tha geach nezha!_ ”

The cost of the spell sends her to her knees with a cry of pain, but she clings to her spear to remain upright. The Reaper bellows in surprise as tendrils of mud climb its legs, hindering its approach as it tries to follow Allanon. He dodges to the side, evading its slow attack, and lunges forward to pierce its side. Although he makes his mark, a backhanded slash catches him on the shoulder and sends him flying. Allanon hits the ground heavily, rolling with the momentum of the landing, and lies still.

_Not Allanon, not Allanon, anyone but him_ \- Kira doesn’t realize she’s running across the field until she stumbles and almost falls across his body. He’s still breathing, the gods are merciful, but he sprawls limp beneath her touch. Above them, the Reaper roars its victory. Kira leaps to shield Allanon with her body, gripping her signal crystal tight enough to cut her hand. _Wil, now; now, Wil; Wil, now!_

Through his eyes, she can see the Reaper raise one of its blades to strike. She twists to thrust a hand into the air, shouting her shield-spell: “ _Yoyaret!_ ” The axe skids off her shield, sending up a shower of green sparks. Kira falls back against Allanon, struggling to hold the spell. The Reaper pulls back, snarling in anger, and winds up for another blow.

The blue light of the Elfstones’ magic lights the field brighter than a full moon. Faintly, Kira can hear Wil’s yell echo against the stones of the fort. The Reaper stumbles back one step, then another, the already-dampened flame at its core failing and vanishing under the onslaught. As the Elfstones’ fire fades, the Reaper collapses into an inanimate pile of sooty bones and ancient armor.

Kira lets her head fall back against Allanon’s stomach. He grunts, and a moment later, she can feel his hand curl into her hair. “Well done,” he says gruffly.

“And you,” Kira replies, voice equally hoarse, as she closes her eyes.

“Are you guys all right?” someone calls distantly. Mud squishes beneath running footsteps, and Wil falls to his knees beside the Druids. “Oh, come on. Please don’t be dead.”

“I’m not dead,” Kira says. “Are you dead?”

“I’m not dead,” Allanon agrees. “I think I’ll stay here a little while, though.”

“A lovely plan.” Kira nuzzles her cheek against the warm leather of Allanon’s coat and sleeps to the sound of Wil’s faintly hysterical laughter.

 

The warmth of sunlight across her cheeks prompts Kira to lift her head and open her eyes. She immediately regrets it, as a searing headache makes itself known. The surface she’s resting against shifts as she groans and tries to bury her head in the pillows.

“Go back to sleep,” Allanon orders groggily, somewhere nearby. Extremely nearby.

Kira pauses to gather her wits before she attempts to identify her surroundings. Indoors. A bed. With a very active heat source curled up next to her.

“Allanon?” She moves her hand up experimentally and discovers the slightly scruffy beard that covers his jaw. Yes, that heat source is definitely Allanon. “Why are we in the same bed?”

“Dunno.” Judging by the way the hand on her waist tugs her gently closer, he doesn’t care, either. He turns his head a little to kiss the tips of her fingers.

Kira groans and lets her head fall back against his shoulder. “What happened? The last I remember was taking down the Reaper.”

“Wil guarded us until the Hunters took the fort.” Allanon sighs. “They must have brought us in. I remember the boy bandaging my shoulder.”

“I should check on that.” Kira tries to push herself up, but Allanon holds her fast.

“It’s fine. He did a good job.”

“There must be other wounded from the battle,” she insists half-heartedly.

“The Home Guard have their own medics, and you have no magic to heal.”

Kira gives up and allows herself to relax against him. She rests her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and the soothing rumble of his breath. After a moment, Allanon lifts his hand to comb her hair from her face. “If the children find us like this, they’ll never let us live it down,” she says.

“A price I am willing to pay.” She can feel his breath against her skin for a second before he kisses her forehead. _Dear friend_ , his thoughts murmur through his shields. _Gentle Kira._

_Allanon_ , she replies. _My Allanon._ She opens her eyes, and realizes when her heart stutters that his lips are a bare fingers-width from her own. To judge by the way his pulse quickens under her hand, he knows it just as well.

“Kira-”

The creak of a door opening has her jerking away before he can continue. Wil peeks into the room cautiously, grinning when he sees them. “Hey, you’re awake,” he chirps. “I brought food!”

“Wonderful,” Kira says, only a little bit breathless.

Allanon groans and rolls over to bury his head under the blankets. Kira gives him a friendly swat before digging her way out from under the quilt. Someone stripped her out of her dress last night and left her in her shift to sleep, but she’s too wobbly-legged to be modest when Wil comes over to offer an arm.

“I, um, I wrapped your hand last night,” he volunteers as he helps her to the table under the window. “And Allanon’s shoulder. But Amberle was the one who, uh-” He gestures vaguely at her state of undress. “You were really muddy.”

“I do hope I get my clothes back,” Kira jokes, letting herself drop into one of the chairs gratefully. “Last time I ruined a dress, it had to be burned.”

_I hope not_ , Allanon says through their bond. He’s excavated himself from the blankets and propped his head up on his arms to gaze at her. For a second, she can see herself through his eyes: _silhouetted against the rising sun, wrapped in gauzy white that does very little to conceal her pert breasts and slender hips-_

Wil steps between them, cutting off Allanon’s train of thought, and Kira takes a breath to stabilize her fluttering nerves. “Are you okay?” the boy asks. “You’re really flushed.”

“I sunburn easily,” she says. Although the statement is true, it is not strictly an honest answer. She can feel Allanon’s amusement like a tickle at the back of her neck.

Wil nods, chewing on a hangnail for a second as he thinks. “I saw some aloe in the medical stores. I’ll grab that for you,” he says. “And I’ll see what Amberle’s done with your clothes. If she did have to burn them, there’ll be extra Guard uniforms somewhere.”

“That could get interesting,” Kira mutters, mostly to herself. “I don’t think the Home Guard allows recruits of my height.” There’s a snort from the bed, and she can sense Allanon imagining _Kira drowning in a floppy gambeson, coat-tails dragging behind her like a toddler in a parent’s shirt-_ “Hey! You’ll not think it so funny if she’s burned your coat.”

The other Druid’s mirth turns to alarm in the space of a second. “I spent eight months on the runes for that,” he growls. “If the girl’s done something to it…”

Wil turns quickly, raising his hands to placate Allanon as he starts to disentangle himself from the blankets. “I’m sure it’s okay!” he says. “But I’ll go and check. You just stay here, okay?”

Allanon pauses, and Kira can see him weighing the ache of his wounds against the burden of his own dignity. “Very well,” he agrees after a moment. “May I at least have my shirt?”

_I hope not,_ Kira teases as Wil turns away to look for the garment. She hides her smirk by biting into one of the sandwiches Wil brought, and allows herself to look Allanon over lasciviously: _the muscles of his arms and chest move as he breathes, the cords of his throat as he swallows, and the smooth plane of his stomach with just enough hair to catch the light and shadow gorgeously…_

Allanon snatches his shirt from Wil and yanks it over his head, wincing as he pulls the bruised muscles of his shoulder. “Easy now,” Wil says. “Who’d’ve thought you’re the shy one?”

“Leave,” Allanon growls. “Before I make you regret that remark.”

Wil glances at Kira nervously. “He’s not a morning person,” she mouths.

“Okay,” the half-elf mouths back. “I’ll- uh- I’ll be back soon,” he says aloud. “You kids be good.” Allanon levels a glare at Wil, and the boy scrambles out of the room.

Kira breaks into giggles as soon as the door slams behind him. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“Neither was leering at me like that,” Allanon says.

“Turnabout is fair play.” She gives him her most practiced court-smile as she offers a sandwich. Allanon rolls his eyes and snatches the food from her. “Do you...” She hesitates when he looks up at her. “Do you truly see me that way?”

_Can’t tell you, can’t say the words, but I can show you_ , he replies. _A streak of honey at the corner of your mouth, would you taste as sweet if I kissed you now? And there’s the blush, I love that blush, I want to see it spread down your neck and across your breasts as I take you-_

“Enough,” Kira says, breaking their eye contact.

Allanon brushes a few crumbs off his trousers. “Did I push too far?” he asks haltingly.

“No, I-” _Gods forgive me, I want it, too._ “Wil could be back any moment.”

“That’s not the real reason.”

“You know why.” She swallows against the lump in her throat. “This is- it has always been- forbidden. We should not… compromise ourselves like this.”

“We are all that remains, Kira. The- the bloody bylaws don’t matter anymore.” He gestures in exasperation.

“Are you so willing to make yourself a hypocrite, then?” Shock radiates off Allanon at the question, then hurt, as though she’d stuck him across the face. She presses on nonetheless, avoiding his eyes. “You tell Amberle daily that she cannot allow emotion to put the quest in jeopardy. You tell Bandon that he must control himself, or risk falling to the darkness. Does the same not apply to us?”

“You think I can’t tell the difference between lust and-” Allanon bites back his words, and his shields come up like a house shuttering against a storm. “Very well. If this is what you want.” Kira doesn’t answer, can’t lie to him. He pushes himself off the bed, stumbling a little, but pulls away when she reaches to steady him. She watches as he gathers his boots off the chest at the foot of the bed and tugs them on. “I will find the prince and find how the Guard fared in the attack on the fort,” he announces without looking at her.

Kira reaches for him again. “Allanon, please-”

“Don’t say you’re sorry when you’re not,” he says, biting out his words. With that, he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E zhornar thil, e heath an Oros. - Protect him, o magic of the Earth.  
> Lof ash hus yenola fem. - I call forth powerful fire.  
> Oros, lof ash hus shef. - Earth, I call upon you.  
> E thurumör tha geach nezha. - Destroy this dark magic.


	11. Intuition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I fix most of the things I broke in the last chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to tempest2004, who was integral in the writing of this chapter!
> 
> Noalath translations provided at the end.

Eretria closes the bedroom door behind herself, takes in the scene quickly, and makes an educated guess. “What are you two fighting about now?” she asks, dropping her armload on the chair opposite Kira.

“I don’t know what you mean,” the Druid lies, badly. It’s like she’s not even putting in the effort.

“Allanon just went storming off down the hall, and you look like you’ve got your own personal raincloud.” Eretria takes Kira’s hands and drags her to her feet. “C’mon. What’s going on?”

Kira turns away, picking up the clothes Eretria dropped and beginning to sort them neatly across the bed. “Even if it was any of your business-”

“I think it’s absolutely my business, as an Agent of Paranor.” Eretria grins proudly as Kira rolls her eyes. “Here, you missed the underskirt.”

“Thank you.” Kira shimmies a little to get the petticoat to lay over her shift smoothly before she does up the button at the waistband. “I should’ve known you’d use that to your own ends. Although I suppose this is not as bad as you could be about it.”

“So, if it was my business, which it is…” Eretria plucks the plain bodice off the bed and holds it for Kira to shrug into.

“I don’t…” Kira’s fingers work at the laces expertly, even as she hesitates to speak. “I don’t know that I have the words to explain.”

“Give it a try.” The prompt sounds gentler than she expected, and the look Kira gives her is almost… trusting. It’s strange and unfamiliar, but not unwelcome somehow.

“Allanon takes risks far more easily than I do,” Kira says quietly. She turns away to pick up the dress Eretria brought, a soft fawn-colored gown with dark brown trim on the hem and cuffs. “He doesn’t see that there is danger in…”

Eretria takes a guess as Kira pulls the dress over her head. “In love, huh?” Kira doesn’t meet her eyes, pretending to be busy with the buttons that close the front over her bodice. “Come on. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. You want to know what I think?”

“But of course.”

She ignores the note of sarcasm in the Druid’s voice. “I think the two of you are intelligent, consenting adults. Sure, Amberle and Wil should stop making doe-eyes at each other. But you and Allanon? You know what you’re doing.”

“I-” Kira looks up. “I suppose that’s true.”

“And you’re smart enough to knock it off if it gets you in trouble, right?” Eretria prompts.

“I believe I am. Allanon, on the other hand-” Kira raises her eyebrows wordlessly as she knots her sash around her waist.

“Would listen to you if you told him to cut it out,” Eretria says.

“This is true,” Kira agrees softly. “I suppose it comes down to tradition.” She shakes her head, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull on her stockings and boots. “If Paranor yet stood, we would be cast out for even considering the matter as far as we have.”

“ _Considering,_ huh?” Eretria snickers as Kira rolls her eyes at the innuendo.

“Why did we end up in the same bed, anyway?” the Druid asks. “I sincerely doubt a shortage of mattresses, in a fort meant to garrison three times our number.”

“It was your idea.” Eretria throws her hands in the air when Kira glares at her. “Honest! Amberle and I stripped you down and tossed you across the hall while Wil patched Allanon up. Not five minutes after we left you, you walked in here and wrapped yourself around him!”

“And you didn’t move me back because…”

Eretria puts up one finger. “First, because it was adorable.” Another finger: “Second, because we couldn’t get Allanon to let go of you. I’m pretty sure he called Wil something really nasty in your Druid-Speak.”

“It’s called Noalath,” Kira says primly. She purses her lips and focuses on the toggles of her boots, probably trying to hide the blush that creeps across her cheeks. “In any case, do you know where Bandon is?”

“He was moping around with nothing to do, so Prince Cutie offered him a sword lesson.” Eretria jerks a thumb over her shoulder in the general direction of the bailey. “They’re probably outside.”

“Refer to Prince Ander with more respect,” Kira orders as she stands. “I believe the phrase is ‘he is very much out of your league.’”

Eretria shrugs, trailing after Kira as she heads out of the room. “All right. I’ll stick with teasing Princess Haughty, then.”

 

He can sense Kira’s hesitation when she sees him, and it makes his heart ache. Allanon pretends to have noticed nothing, leaning against the railing separating the upper entrance of the keep from the drop to the courtyard below. She crosses the terrace almost silently and takes a similar position beside him. It’s a moment before she speaks, a tense moment of _who will drop shield first and who will say what they feel?_ Below, the clatter of Ander and Bandon at a sword drill continues.

“I am glad I caught you before you started spell-practice with the boy,” Kira says. In the corner of his vision, her pale fingers flex and twist together. He can imagine her nervousness fluttering against her shields like a moth against a window.

“He does well.” Allanon swallows, struggling to make his voice less husky. “I saw no reason to interrupt one lesson with another.”

“He is doing well,” Kira agrees. Her hands vanish from his sight, and he wonders for a split second if she will leave. “He does credit to you as a teacher.”

Allanon pushes himself away from the railing roughly, turning to face Kira. “Is this what we are to do?” he demands. “To pretend we have said nothing, meant nothing?”

The dismay in her eyes feels like a bite from a venom-fanged mouth. “Allanon…” She swallows and drops her gaze from his. Her lips quiver, and no matter how much he restrains himself from the action, he cannot stop the thought of halting their tremble with his own mouth. “No,” she says.

“Very well.” He turns on his heel, ready to leave- ready to vent his caprice on anything other than Kira- before she catches his sleeve.

“Don’t be so eager to be rejected,” she says, a laugh in her voice. “Allanon, I came to tell you I have changed my mind.”

He freezes. To have his heart in his throat would be impossible, and yet there it seems to sit. “Then… you mean…”

“I mean, I do not intend us to pretend we are nothing to each other. I believe we would both much prefer…” She lets her hand slide to his as she drops her shield. Allanon gasps at the strength of the images she shares: _twisted sheets and tangled limbs, cries of passion and sweat-slicked skin; but also a gentle touch of a hand to a face, her fingers tracing the scar at his eye and his finding the softness of her lips, also tender words and sweet laughter; both sides of what they have denied, love and lust blended without distinction, without separation, never separation, never let us separate-_

Allanon closes his eyes, finally finding his voice. “Please.”

Kira’s mind pulls away from his, quieting to a murmur of _I adore you, I admire you, I will go down the entire list alphabetically and then applicably if you wish…_

He takes a step closer to her, tucking his cheek against her hair since he cannot quite trust himself to meet her eyes. “Please,” he murmurs into her ear. “May I kiss you?”

“Please,” she agrees.

He threads his fingers into her red locks carefully, and although he can feel the flicker of her amusement- _not a porcelain doll, Allanon-_ no, she is something immeasurably more precious. She sighs as he tilts his head and brings his lips to hers. She tastes as sweet as he imagined, better than he could have dreamed, with the throb of her pulse under his fingertips and the shudder of her breasts against his chest as she takes a breath before opening her mouth, demanding more of him. He gives gladly, and she moans under the touch of his tongue to her lips. If he could have her here- five seconds for the charm of obscurity and five seconds to have her skirts around her sweet slender hips-

Kira pushes him back with a hand on his shoulder, breaking the kiss. “Too far,” she pants. “You press too fast.”

Allanon rests his head against the stone at Kira’s back. At what point did he drive her against the wall? He starts to pull away, concerned he’s pinned her there against her will, but Kira is twined around him as earnestly as ivy on an oak sapling. She twists her fingers into his surcoat and rests her head on his chest, breathing hard. He combs his fingers through her hair to stroke her back, earning a pleased shiver. He can move more slowly- he knows how to tease, if nothing else- but if she wants a gallant courtship, a grand seduction, he may be a bitter disappointment.

Kira laughs breathlessly. She slides a hand up to curl around the back of his neck before she focuses to answer him clearly. _A dance in a marble ballroom, elegant but empty, genteel but without gentleness; why would she want that more than a true lover? A campfire and day-old bread and laughter, an oil-canvas tent and a warm bedroll-_

He cuts her off with a delicate kiss, sharing the way he savors the taste of her lips. Kira all but purrs under his touch. _That I can provide, and more, if you will have me._

_Gladly,_ she says. _So very gladly._

 

Bandon wipes the sweat from his brow with his sleeve as he steps into the main hall of the keep. At the far end of the room, he can make out Kira’s red hair and a large figure that absolutely cannot be Allanon. Allanon has never laughed like that. Is he even capable of laughing like that?

“ _Erin sef yoth hi hus sa_ _korlach iha enáicha,_ ” Kira says in a teasing, haughty tone to her companion as Bandon approaches. She tosses her hair, earning a throaty chuckle.

“ _Hi hus ruhalan u verin sef?_ ” That’s definitely Allanon’s voice, coming from a man with Allanon’s clothes and hair and scars. Kira said something in Arborlon about Changelings being unable to mimic Druids, didn’t she? And yet the man reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear delicately.

Kira smiles up at him, grey eyes soft. She’s just opened her mouth to reply when Bandon steps into her sight. “ _Mi izhak,_ ” she says quietly.

At her nod, Allanon turns. “Ah, Bandon.” He smiles tightly. “How did your training go?”

Bandon shrugs, eyeing the two Druids uncertainly. “Fine, I guess. Prince Ander said I have a lot to learn, but I’ve got promise.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Kira says, her smile more genuine than Allanon’s.

“He also said he wanted to talk with you.” Bandon nods to Allanon.

The man nods. “And I with him.” He pats his side, checking for his sword’s hilt as he turns back to Kira. “ _Hi yu nol sef u_ _yeshith leadrik?_ ”

“ _Mi bachól jornar sa._ ” At his frown, Kira continues, “There are other lessons. I will wait until you return.”

“Very well. _Pal sef ü yoth ad an ib thöna._ ”

“Don’t start another fight about this,” Kira orders, grinning. “ _E yen!_ ”

Allanon shakes his head, but there’s a smile on his lips. “I won’t take long. Teach him the Magelight, or something small.”

“Exactly what I planned,” she says. Allanon nods and leans toward her to clap her shoulder before turning to leave. Kira watches him go with a smile and a hint of a blush.

“What’s going on between the two of you?” Bandon asks once Allanon is out of earshot.

“What do you mean?” Kira replies. Her attitude isn’t as innocent as she thinks it is.

“Allanon wanted to kiss you,” he says in a sudden burst of insight. He can feel embarrassment and discomfort crawling against his skin, but it seems to come from an outside source.

“Stop,” Kira orders sharply. As he stares at her in confusion, the sense of emotion- of her emotion, he realizes- vanishes, replaced by the soft-smooth barrier of her shields. “You should control your abilities, Bandon, not the other way around.”

Curious, he pushes forward with his newfound awareness. He can taste her fear like blood in the back of his mouth, _is this how the boy falls_ and _what is it he thinks he knows?_ It’s an almost heady sensation, and he presses harder. Kira grimaces and takes a step back, throwing up a hand with fingers splayed. _Give me a shield strong enough, gods-_ The thought cuts off abruptly, and she seems to vanish from his mind’s perception.

“Don’t do that again,” Kira growls. She lowers her hand, wavering a little before she stumbles back another step to rest her back against the wall. _He’s stronger than I thought, have I made a mistake in taking him to apprentice?_

“I’m sorry,” Bandon says quietly. “I don’t understand what happened.”

“In your interest, you broke through my shield.” Kira’s laugh is shaky. “You’re certainly a Druid, if you are both strong enough and rude enough to do so.”

“I- I didn’t realize.” He reaches a hand out to her, and it feels like a reprieve when she takes it without hesitation. “I won’t ever push like that, I promise,” he says. “But… I can still sort of…” _As though you’re standing over my shoulder and if I glance back, I can tell what you think?_

Kira nods. “Now that you have recognized your intuition, it will always be there.” _How Allanon and I fit together so well, a Druid-bond that tells us the other’s next move, next breath._ “It can be blocked with an adequate shield, quieted with enough practice, but never truly silenced.” _To tie off a hand and force it into numbness would kill the flesh; the same for a Druid’s sense of insight._ Bandon lets his feeling of disgust at the gruesome metaphor ring clear, curious if the intuition runs both ways. Kira just shrugs in response, and he gets the sense that she is unabashed.

“What did you mean, when you said I’m ‘certainly a Druid’?” His lessons can’t be over, it’s been barely a week.

“Of course I don’t mean you’re an adept,” she says with a hint of a laugh. “If Paranor stood, the flowering of your intuition would be your last step toward becoming a journeyman, rather than an initiate. Since times have changed and you already travel with your teacher, you are an apprentice already.” _So truly I mean nothing but homesickness._ Kira shakes her head. “No, I mean that… you have proven you are more than only a talented candidate. You are a Druid in training.”

“It sounds better to say ‘You’re certainly a Druid’ than ‘You’re certainly a Druid in training’,” Bandon says with a grin.

Kira returns his smile. “Precisely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erin sef yoth hi hus sa korlach iha enáicha. - You desire that I am your prize for the taking.  
> Hi hus ruhalan u verin sef? - Am I not free to desire you?  
> Mi izhak. - Not yet.  
> Hi yu nol sef u yeshith leadrik? - Will you teach him the Sight?  
> Mi bachól jornar sa. - Not without your protection.  
> Pal sef ü yoth ad an ib thöna. - You know what must be done.  
> E yen! - Go!


	12. Shithodaravak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one lies to Bandon, and Allanon is repeatedly mildly unprofessional.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, everybody. I've been struggling with tendinitis for about two months, and recently it was bad enough to make me stop writing. Chapter 13 should hopefully be up the week after next.

_This isn’t real. It can’t be real. He must be dreaming. And yet, with that realization shouldn’t he wake up? But he’s still here, still lost and trapped in this maze of stone spires and swirling smoke. Dream logic is that there isn’t any; Bandon tries to walk in a straight line through the labyrinth, but finds himself looping back to the same central location over and over. The only point not hemmed in by shard-sharp walls, the small clearing looks out over a cliff a hundred measures high and a henge of black glass and glittering red magic below. He doesn’t need to be a fully trained Druid to know it must be where the Dagda Mor is hiding._

_A cry draws his attention away from the henge. Bandon spins, reaching for the dagger he keeps on his belt- and of course it isn’t there- before he sees Kira crumpled in the ash that seems to make up the soil here. He tries to run to her side, but collides bodily with her shield, falling in a cloud of dust._

_“Stay away from me,” she hisses. He can’t reach her with his insight, but he can see the hate and fear in her eyes perfectly well. “I’m not so stupid that I can be tricked with the boy’s image.”_

_Bandon swallows, forcing down his emotions just like she’s taught him. She’s lost and confused, just like he is. “It’s okay,” he says, echoing the soothing tone she’s used on him so many times. “It’s really me, Kira.” Doubt flickers across her face, and he presses on. “We were at Drey Wood. You were teaching me to scry. And then…” He looks up at the maze, shaking his head. There’s an embarrassing tremble in his voice when he continues: “I don’t know what happened.”_

_“It’s all right.” She pushes herself up with a grunt, keeping one hand pressed against her side. “I think we fell into a_ shithodaravak _. A sort of… psychic trapdoor. More likely than not, set by the Dagda Mor.”_

_“How do we get out?” Bandon asks desperately._

_Kira shakes her head. “We don’t.” She pulls her hand away from her side, revealing a bloody wound as though someone’s torn a fistful of flesh away. “I’m not strong enough to- to climb out, if we continue the metaphor, and I can’t teach you here.”_

_The wind picks up, scattering ash and fragments of shale in a loose cloud, and Kira covers her wound again with a wince. Bandon can almost hear a voice on the wind, keening consonants of the Druid language, and he looks to Kira quickly. “Do you hear that?”_

_Her mouth tightens. “He’s trying to call you to him,” she says softly. “Don’t listen, sweet boy.”_

_“If we can’t get out, what are we supposed to do?” Bandon struggles to keep the question from coming out as a sob._

_“We wait for our friend.” Kira reaches to cover his hand with hers. “He will come for us.”_

_Bandon shakes his head. “How? Allanon’s not a Seer!”_

_“He is tied to you, as master to your apprentice. He can follow that bond to retrieve us.” Kira smiles._

_The wind kicks up again before Bandon can speak, and he moves closer to shield Kira with his body. This time the cry is hissing sibilants, and he can almost make out a word: “_ Sinjoaf…" 

_“What does that mean?” Bandon asks before he thinks._

_“What does-” Kira shakes her head. “Bandon, don’t listen!” she pleads._

_“_ Sinjoaf _,” he repeats. “It sounds familiar.”_

_Kira grabs him by the fabric of his shirt as he starts to turn to better hear the voice on the wind. “Servant, it means. Slave. Is that what you want?”_

_“No, of course not-” He closes his eyes against a blast of air that sends grit swirling around them._

_The gust feels like Kira’s hand on his shoulder, and the voice on the wind is Allanon’s. “_ E hu an boyeshara. _” It sounds like the Druid’s whispering directly in his ear._

_“That’s Allanon!” Bandon says, head jerking up._

_Kira tugs him back down. “It’s not,” she says. “Please, sweet boy, close your ears.” The ground seems to tremble beneath them, and Kira holds him closer._

_“It’s Allanon,” he cries, trying to pull Kira to her feet. He can sense Allanon’s magic reaching for them, but she struggles against him._

_“You can’t-”_

 

Bandon jerks upright, gasping for breath. Kira and Allanon stare down at him with grave, concerned expressions. They’re each sitting on one side of his bed and holding one of his hands, both clutching with desperate strength.

“ _Hi thil alan?_ ” Kira asks softly.

“He is,” Allanon agrees. A smile creeps across his face at increments, until he leans forward to pull Bandon into a rough, enthusiastic embrace.

Kira sobs with relief and reaches out to stroke his cheek. “We thought we’d lost you, _sinjoaf_.”

“Wait-” Bandon pushes Allanon back. “You said that meant ‘slave’.”

“ _Sinjoaf?_ ” Allanon repeats. He glances to Kira. “When did you say that?”

She shakes her head, brow furrowing. “I didn’t. No, it translates something like… ‘little boy’.”

“In the maze,” Bandon says. “You were there.”

“No,” Kira says slowly. “You were trapped by a demon of the Nightmare. It came to you in your sleep, and took from your fears and memories to create the perfect cage to hold you. Allanon had to pull you away from it.”

A nightmare demon. That’s a new one. Bandon shakes his head. “It was pretending to be you. It knew how you moved, how you spoke, even how you call me-”

“My sweet boy,” Kira says, finishing the sentence. “You’re safe now.”

Allanon reaches to ruffle Bandon’s hair even as he looks toward Kira. “This will only be the first of many incidents if we don’t give the boy his runes.”

“I don’t know,” Kira sighs. “Without the proper materials, the proper training…”

“You have your sketching-charcoal and I have the Codex,” Allanon says. “It will be more dangerous to leave him unprotected.”

“He’s sitting right here!” Bandon says, waving a hand in a bid for their attention.

Kira considers him for a moment before reaching to undo the tie of her shift. She pulls the neckline down, revealing the tops of her breasts and a complicated knot design tattooed over her heart. “This rune is called Galaphile’s Knot,” she says. “It binds a Seer’s spirit to their body. The Sight becomes a more difficult tool to use, but markedly less dangerous.”

Bandon nods, studying the mark. “What about that one?” He gestures at the base of her throat.

“The Seer’s Mark.” Kira traces the tattoo with her finger, a twisted knot similar to the other but less complex. “It allows finer control of the Sight. You will receive it when you have earned it.”

“How do I earn it?”

“By practicing,” Kira says. After a second’s hesitation, she adds, “And surviving.”

“The Knot will help with that,” Allanon rumbles.

Kira nods. “I think we are agreed, if you consent?” She looks to Bandon with a raised eyebrow.

“I guess… I do,” Bandon says haltingly.

Allanon pushes himself off the edge of the bed. “I will fetch the supplies. You will tell him the process?” he asks Kira.

“I will,” she agrees. As Allanon leaves, she tightens the strings at the neck of her shift and ties them in a neat bow. The motion plants a thought in Bandon’s mind, but he waits for the door to close behind Allanon before speaking.

“Why are the two of you half-clothed?” he asks.

Kira laughs awkwardly. “I had a nightmare- although not a demonic one- several hours ago. Allanon came to check on me.” Bandon’s intuition tells him she speaks the truth, but the way she won’t quite meet his eyes suggests it’s not the whole truth.

“All right,” he says, deciding to drop the matter for now. “What’s the deal with the runes?”

Kira loosens the cuffs of her shift and pulls the billowy sleeves all the way up to her shoulders. Sharp-edged designs are tattooed along the outside of her arm, forming a dark line from her wrist to her shoulder, where one is half-covered by her gown. “They are the Marks of a Druid,” she says. “Most of these, you will not receive until you are ready to venture out on your own- the Virtues. Every Druid wears them differently.” She traces the line of the runes with a finger, smiling faintly. “Mine are across my shoulders and down my arms, to give me strength. Allanon’s go down his spine, as though backing him in battle.”

“What about mine?”

She pulls her sleeve down with a laugh. “You’ll have to wait and see. Tonight we give you your first Charm-Mark.”

“Galaphile’s Knot, right?” His eyes flicker to her chest, unbidden, and he looks away as soon as he realizes it.

“Yes,” Kira says. Either she didn’t notice, or she won’t bring it up. “Galaphile was the founder of the Druid Order, and a great Seer. Whether he created the rune or it was named in his honor is lost to the ages, but it works more than well enough.” She smiles and reaches to smooth his hair. “No more nightmares. And it’s possible you won’t need a shield in order to touch someone without a vision.”

Bandon grabs her hand. “Really?”

“It is possible,” she repeats. “Do not falsely raise your hopes.”

“I- I won’t.” He releases her hand slowly.

“I am proud to have you as my apprentice, _sinjoaf_ ,” Kira says quietly. “If we survive this quest, you will be a great Druid one day.”

His heart doesn’t leap into his throat this time, almost as though he’s getting used to receiving praise as regularly as he used to be beaten. He gives her a shy smile before he ducks his head.

There’s a thump at the door, and Bandon glances over to see Allanon nudging the door open with his hip. The Druid’s arms are filled with a strange assortment of items, and he dumps the lot on the end of the bed unceremoniously. “Codex,” he announces. Bandon grunts as the heavy book is dropped across his legs. “Journal-”

“Thank you,” Kira chirps as he hands over a loose-woven woolen bag. “I see you’ve got the candle.”

“A fresh one seemed a good idea.” Allanon sets the beeswax candle on the table beside Bandon’s bed, while Kira digs a charcoal pencil out of the bag. “And I brought your healer’s kit, as well.”

“What are we going to need that for?” Bandon asks, voice squeaky with alarm.

Kira laughs and gives him a reassuring smile. “It’s not blood magic,” she says. “But your skin will be tender for a few days.”

Allanon drums his fingers against his leg. “What are we lacking?”

“The approval of our elders?” Kira suggests sarcastically as she picks up the Codex.

“Yes, that,” the Druid agrees. “Although considering the difficulty of contacting the dead, I would say we are best going without.”

“A sound decision.” Kira flicks through the Codex, stopping on a page dominated by the design of Galaphile’s Knot, with notations written around the edges in a tiny script. “Shirt off, please _._ ” Bandon hesitates, and she looks up from the Codex. “You are in possession of nothing I have not seen before, _sinjoaf._ ”

Bandon pulls his shirt over his head, blush flourishing across his cheeks. He think he hears Allanon snicker under the rustling of cloth, but he’s not sure. When he tosses the shirt aside, the Druid is busy lighting the new candle from the stub of the old one. Kira leans forward suddenly, and Bandon yelps at the unexpected tickle of the charcoal pencil against his skin.

“Be calm,” Allanon says, putting his hand on Bandon’s shoulder to steady him. “This is the easy part.”

Bandon grits his teeth to keep from giggling as Kira continues to work. It’s a long few minutes before she sits back again. She studies the rune traced across his chest for a moment, then nods in approval. “Will you do the invocation, or shall I?” she asks Allanon.

“Together,” he says as he hands the candle to Bandon. “Hold it with both hands, boy- like that.” He nods and looks back to Kira. “Your charm-work is neater than mine, but I will lend my strength.”

“Together, then,” she agrees. The Druids link hands, then reach to hold Bandon by the elbows. The similarity to the way he woke is striking, and far from comforting. Kira gives him a reassuring smile before she closes her eyes. “ _Lof ash hus u heath an Pöri,_ ” she murmurs.

Bandon has half a second to recognize the first half of the spell, the same sort of invocation she used on the battlefield, before the candle-flame leaps up, flickering wildly. He tries to pull back, startled, but the Druids hold him fast.

" _E venáina choap ash bajas sa jornar,_ ” Kira says. Her voice grows more strained with every word. “ _E mörod geach nezha…”_ She stumbles for a second, and Bandon can see Allanon’s grip on her hand tighten. “- _thun tha koth,_ ” she finishes breathlessly.

The flame of the candle blinks out abruptly, and Bandon hisses as the charcoal seems to burn into his skin. When the sensation fades, Galaphile’s Knot is marked on his chest in lines as dark and firm as Kira’s tattoos.

“Oh, look at that,” she says, sounding surprised. “It worked.”

Allanon lets go of Bandon to put his hand on Kira’s shoulder. “Are you all right, _thenóyye_?”

“I…” Kira looks stunned, leaning into Allanon’s hand. “I pushed too hard today.” She drops her head, and Bandon sets the candle aside quickly, reaching to steady her as she collapses. Allanon catches her first, supporting her for a moment before he pulls her into his arms.

“Is she okay?” Bandon asks desperately. “Oh, this is my fault-”

“She’s fainted, boy, not died.” Allanon’s shields are less yielding than Kira’s, but it’s clear he’s holding back irritation at Bandon’s panic. “Calling on a spirit requires a great deal of energy. She will be fine once she rests.”

“This is my fault,” Bandon repeats in a whisper.

Allanon frowns at him. “This is her fault for not accepting my help when I offered it.” He shakes his head as he looks down at Kira, but there’s a softness in his eyes that belies his scowl. “I will take her back to her room, and return for the supplies.”

“I can clean up,” Bandon says. Allanon gives him a curious, appraising look. “I mean, the only thing that needs to be kept safe is the Codex, right? You can probably take that and Kira at the same time. And then you can watch out for her.”

“That will work well,” Allanon agrees, nodding slowly. He folds the Codex closed and sets it in Kira’s lap before he slides an arm under her knees and lifts her. “Until morning,” he says, giving Bandon a nod as he leaves.

 

Wil leads his bay gelding around the fort’s inner wall, making sure the saddle’s set comfortably even as he checks on the rest of the party. The prince looks tired in the pale light of dawn, shoulders drooping as he waits alongside the Guard Captain. From a snippet of conversation he caught earlier, the pair were up late discussing plans for security when they reach Tyrsis. The Elven Guard are making their last preparations, packing extra supplies and forming up into their regiments.

Eretria and Amberle are mounted a short distance away from the gate, and seem to be having a competition to determine who can flirt more outrageously without showing any genuine affection. Bandon is riding Kira’s placid grey mare on his own, looking a little nervous but surprisingly confident in his seat. Kira herself- and Allanon, for that matter- are nowhere to be seen.

A few words of the Druid-tongue catch Wil’s attention. “ _E haya,_ ” Allanon says.

Kira’s response is too quiet to hear, and Wil ties his gelding’s reins to a post before stepping into the stables. Allanon has Kira pressed between his body and the flank of his stallion. Although she seems to be holding onto his sleeve, her head lolls against his shoulder alarmingly.

“Everything okay here?” Wil calls pointedly.

Allanon glances up with an expression full of exasperation and concern. “Will you help?”

“What’s going on?” Wil asks, approaching with caution.

“Kira cannot ride alone today,” Allanon says. “But neither will she release me so I may mount up.”

“ _Hi yu mi hus,_ ” Kira grumbles.

“Yes, so I have gathered,” Allanon replies, frowning down at the redhead. He shifts her grip so her arm is around his shoulders.

Wil steps forward and lets Allanon shift Kira’s weight to his shoulders. “Is she okay?” He cups her chin, trying to get her to look up at him.

Kira scowls at him blearily. “ _E yen ash,_ ” she mutters.

Allanon huffs, adjusting his horse’s tack. “She will be fine, once she recovers her strength. She made a foolish decision and exhausted herself on a spell last night.”

“You’re a foolish decision,” Kira says, half-slurring her retort.

“I did not blast through my energy reserves in the space of a single day,” Allanon counters. He mounts up in an easy motion and leans down to reach for Kira.

She turns away, scowling into Wil’s shoulder. “ _Nevithim fichoth_.”

Allanon gives Wil a hard, warning look. “You will share this with no one,” he orders.

“Uh, yeah!” Wil squeaks. “Sure, if you want.”

The Druid nods and brushes his knuckles against Kira’s shoulder. His voice is gentle when he speaks to her. “ _Thöna goak yen, thenóyye. E nüth chi shi._ ”

Kira sighs. “ _Tamba hus nulva bachól geath,_ ” she replies, turning back toward Allanon and offering her hand.

“ _Hi yu an hus sa pemar,_ ” Allanon says, reassuring her before he pulls her into the saddle behind him. Kira grumbles wordlessly, setting her arms around Allanon’s waist as the stallion frisks beneath their weight. “Thank you, Wil.”

“ _Sembaruch isshef,_ ” Kira says softly. She gives him a faint smile.

“She thanks you, as well,” Allanon translates. He nods toward the side entrance where Wil came in. “Your horse is ready?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll meet you guys out there.” He turns away quickly as Kira lays her head against Allanon’s back and begins to hum. The last thing he hears before he closes the stable door is Allanon’s chuckle before he starts to hum the same tune.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shithodaravak - place of torment  
> sinjoaf - baby boy  
> E hu an boyeshara. - Don’t be blinded.  
> Hi thil alan? - Is he free?  
> Lof ash hus u heath an Pöri. - I call forth the magic of the wind.  
> E venáina choap ash bajas sa jornar. - Honor this boy with your protection.  
> E mörod geach nezha thun tha koth. - Hold back dark magic from his soul.  
> thenóyye - spark
> 
> E haya. - Stand.  
> E yen ash. - Go forth/go away.  
> nevithim fichoth - bloody without-soul  
> Thöna goak yen. - We must go.  
> E nüth chi shi. - Come to me.  
> Tamba hus nulva bachól geath. - I feel cursed without magic.  
> Hi yu an hus sa pemar. - I will be your strength.


	13. The Westland Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frustrations mount on the last day of travel before Tyrsis.

The pine forests of the Westland begin to thin as the group rides south from Drey Wood. Kira’s arms are loose around Allanon, and she rests against his back, making the occasional small noise as they cross the hilly terrain. Allanon fights to keep his attention to his surroundings; barren trees and trickling creeks don’t hold a fraction of the interest that Kira does, sleeping sweetly behind him. He touches her mind at odd moments, listening to her dreams only when he’s sure Captain Edensong is at guard.

_Foxhounds baying and yelping,_ Kira dreams, _the scent of pine needles beneath fleet paws and swift-footed horses’ hooves, resin and river-water on the wind. He’s beside her, dark coat flying behind him as his black stallion strikes a gallop, neck extended and mane whipping. Allanon looks to her with a smile and Kira laughs as she matches his pace, laughs the same way the hounds howl, only for the joy of the chase-_

A flutter of movement out of the corner of his eye draws Allanon’s attention back. He shifts in the saddle, ready to draw his sword, but releases its hilt as Eretria tugs her buckskin back to a walk alongside Artaq. “I was going to ask if the two of you have made up, but you’ve already answered that question,” the Rover girl says.

“If your query has been addressed, what is it you want?” Allanon asks. Kira whines faintly behind him, digging her head into his back, and he forces himself to relax.

“I wanted to tell you that Kira told me pretty much everything,” Eretria says. There’s an abnormal lack of smugness in her tone, but Allanon still scowls at her. She raises a hand defensively. “I don’t intend to share it with anyone, especially the boys.” She settles herself in her saddle a little, smirking proudly. “I take my job as Agent of Paranor very seriously.”

“You don’t even know what that title entails,” Allanon growls.

“I do, so!” Eretria protests. He resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Kira said Agents were people without magic in the service of Druids.”

Allanon snorts derisively. “To be an Agent of Paranor is a far greater burden than you believe, child. There was once a time when Agents were entrusted with the power of life and death even over the Druids they protected.”

“And what does that mean?” she asks, brow furrowed.

He judges the risks of sharing the story quickly; although it may encourage Eretria to take risks against him and Kira, in the long run it is only an anecdote. “You know the tale of the Skull-Bearers that fought in the service of the Warlock Lord?”

“Hideous gargoyle-things, yeah,” the girl says. “I saw the bones of one, once.”

“Only the most devoted took such a shape. There were others, corrupted Druids who maintained the appearance of humanity.” Allanon sighs, remembering the panic of the Council when it was realized that any of their number could be in the service of Brona. “Before the fall of Paranor, a number of Agents were instructed to hunt down and kill any Druid they suspected of corruption.”

“What about after the fall?” Eretria presses.

“After?” Allanon repeats. “After, there were no Agents living to perform such duties. They gave their lives in defense of the Druids they served.” He doesn’t need intuition to know the girl doubts him, so he fixes her with a look. “You can see their bones at Paranor, if you care to visit. Eighteen still lie outside the creche- the nursery,” he explains when he catches her confusion.

“You think I couldn’t do that?” Eretria asks sharply. “I wouldn’t fight to the death for a bunch of helpless Druid babies?”

“You have shown no interest in fighting for anyone other than yourself.”

“That’s not fair!” Eretria cries. More than a few heads turn in her direction, and she grits her teeth for a moment before continuing quietly. “You think if something came out of the woods, you’d be the only one protecting your wilted flower of a friend-”

“Don’t speak of Kira like that,” Allanon growls.

“And you’re wrong,” Eretria continues. “I’d step up to keep her safe, and you’d run to fight for everybody else. Because that’s who we are.”

Allanon studies the girl until she looks away with a huff of irritation. She has not changed so much in the days since they left Arborlon, not enough to be willing to put her life in the line where she would not have before. “Perhaps I was mistaken in my assessment of you,” he says slowly. “You are a better ally than you readily reveal yourself to be.”

“Yeah, well-” Eretria starts into a prepared comeback and halts when she realizes it doesn’t apply. “I wasn’t… raised to be anybody’s ally. I don’t know how to do the-” She waves a hand dismissively. “- reveal thing.”

“That is a beneficial talent for an Agent in times such as these,” Allanon says. “You have been taught to see no man as your friend. Your suspicion will serve you well, but remember there are exceptions.”

“You and Kira,” Eretria agrees.

“Wil and Amberle as well.” Allanon glances back at the pair he named. The Elf and the Half-Elf are engaged in an enthusiastic discussion. “The boy especially would give himself for you.”

“Yeah.” The Rover looks uncomfortable, almost displeased, and shifts in her saddle. “You’re gonna say something about ‘Don’t use that to your advantage’, and trust me, I don’t plan to.”

“Then it does not need said.”

Kira mumbles something mostly incoherent, and Allanon looks over his shoulder at her.

“Are you trying to recite a tongue-twister?” he asks.

“Not trying, but ‘s coming out that way,” Kira grumbles. “‘m hungry.”

Eretria twists to dig in her saddlebags, coming up with a small cloth-wrapped bundle. “Here.” She leans over to hand it to Kira. “I was gonna save it for later, but you can have it.”

“You’re my favorite,” Kira announces, unwrapping the bun and biting into it.

 

Wil reins in his gelding, keeping the bay from following as Amberle rides ahead. To reach Captain Edensong, she canters past Eretria and the Druids. The three are engaged in a lively conversation; Eretria’s laugh rings through the open woodlands, and Allanon grins.

Bandon’s voice catches him by surprise. “You’re jealous,” the Seer says as he nudges the gray mare he’s riding to match the pace of Wil’s mount. “Why?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Wil says automatically. He looks away, cheeks flushing, as Kira holds up her sticky bun for Allanon to take a bite.

“You’ve got a little…” Bandon scowls a little, squinting at Wil. “I can’t quite get it. Are you thinking about Eretria?”

Wil catches himself from rolling his eyes. “Her? No.”

“Then-” Bandon follows the half-elf’s gaze. Kira’s finished eating, resting her cheek against Allanon’s back as he chats with Eretria. She looks tired but contented, a faint smile on her lips. “Oh.”

“No,” Wil says quickly. “No ‘Oh’. Don’t do that. Stop poking around in my head.”

“Allanon thinks it makes perfect sense,” Bandon says, like he expects that to help.

“Then why doesn’t Allanon-” Wil cuts himself off from finishing the sentence.

“Oh, he does.” Bandon smiles placidly, watching the group ahead. “It’s kinda cute.”

‘Allanon’ and ‘cute’ are two words Wil never expected to go together. “You’re getting way too Druid-y, way too fast,” he says. “Shouldn’t you be creeped out by this?”

“By your feelings or his?” Bandon cocks his head, and Wil instantly recognizes the gesture as borrowed from Kira. As soon as he thinks it, Bandon straightens.

“Will you stop with the mind-reading?” Wil asks. “It’s bad enough when they do it.”

Bandon shrugs, but has the courtesy to look sheepish. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t know. Either. Both.”

“You like her because she’s more sensible than Amberle but more reliable than Eretria. You know she only sees you as a kid, so you’re projecting your feelings onto a safe target,” Bandon says.

Wil decides to neatly sidestep all of the disturbingly accurate analysis there and makes a desperate bid to change the subject. “And Allanon?”

Bandon’s quiet for a little while. Wil’s just started to think that maybe he’s ignoring the question when he speaks. “He sees hope for the future, when he looks at her.”

“And _that’s_ not creepy,” Wil says.

Bandon shrugs one shoulder. “As long as they’re happy, I’ve got a whole lot less psychic conflict to listen to.” He grins. “Not that I’m being all self-serving. They are pretty cute.”

Wil watches Kira brush sweet-bun crumbs from Allanon’s shoulder. “Yeah. I guess.”

 

Ander approaches cautiously, remembering Aine’s tales of _Uncle Allanon, never rough but always haunted._ The Druid Allanon has grown no older in thirty years, to believe the king’s stories, but he looks just as haunted as Aine said. It’s difficult to tell if his compatriot shares the same weight. Silhouetted against the ruddy sunset, he can’t quite make out Kira’s expression as he draws closer. She glances back a split second before Ander clears his throat, and bows her head. “Your Highness,” she says.

“That’s really not necessary,” Ander says. “I just wanted to… see how you fare.”

Kira gives him a practiced, polished smile. “Your concern is appreciated. I will have my full strength again in a few days.”

“Please, we’re not-” Ander sighs, trying to find a good way to say what he means. “We’re not at court yet. I’m asking how _you_ are.”

Kira’s smile fades, and she cocks her head to regard him curiously. “You don’t enjoy the diplomatic dance?” she asks, a hint of teasing in her voice.

“I may have a reputation as a partying prince, but I like drinking more than dancing,” he says sardonically.

“Your preference is noted,” Kira says with a laugh. She shakes her head, smiling more genuinely. “I’ve always loved the mastery of speech that comes to the diplomat, to say something that is not a lie yet neither the truth.” She looks away, back toward the hills. “I learned it the hard way,” she says more quietly.

“Somehow, I’m not surprised to learn the Druids were harsh teachers,” Ander says, mostly to himself.

“No, Paranor was a place of learning, of safety.” She gestures at the rolling hills. “It was out here that I- I was taught a great deal by a man I thought a dear colleague.” She crosses her arms across her stomach, looking down.

“Allanon?” he asks.

“Gods, no.” The retort comes quickly, the words seeming to slip from Kira’s mouth without bidding. “Another Druid, Thoran. Very skilled at guiding others to believe what he wished them to. And very talented at hiding the cruelty within his heart.”

“Which did he teach you?” Ander asks, trying to tease.

Kira’s smile seems tired and sad. “Oh, he showed me both first-hand. I almost believed he loved me, before he betrayed me.” She looks away again. “With the distance of time, I was a fool to think he was capable of such.”

“I’m sorry.”

“The matter is hundreds of years past, child,” she says. She sighs, and when she speaks, her voice is both softer and more fervent. “He will never return, and I am glad of it.”

Ander nods, unsure what, if anything, he should say in response. For a moment, they stand in silence, watching the setting sun cast a red glow over the pine-covered hills. “I’ve only taken this route to Tyrsis once before,” he says. “It doesn’t seem that different from the Westlands. Are you familiar with the area?”

“I was,” Kira says. “The land does not seem to have changed over-much, but…”

“You think the people may have,” Ander says, trying to finish her sentence.

“A great deal of time has passed, and change is the nature of Man.” Kira laughs aloud, shaking her head with a wry smile. “‘Change is the nature of Man’- Oh, I sound like one of the old masters. And I always scorned the little apprentices who did nothing more than repeat their elders’ words.”

Ander grins. “Somehow I can’t see that including Allanon.”

“In a way, yes, and in a way, no. His mentor was greatly different from the other masters, a near outcast-” She stops herself, biting her lip. “Anything more, you would have to ask Allanon. I did not know Bremen well, though I admired him.”

“You Druids,” Ander says, a little annoyed. “Always telling half the story and insisting the other half belongs to your counterpart, knowing full well that they’ll never share.”

The look Kira gives him is startled. “What do you mean?”

“You and this tale about Allanon’s teacher. Allanon and his tale about why you were hidden in Arborlon. Not to mention the way you both dance around the memory of Paranor.” Aine’s description comes to mind suddenly, this time as a warning- _never rough but always haunted_ \- yet Ander continues. All of the frustration he’s been stifling seems to be rising to the surface. Who are these Druids, to demand his service and the service of his niece? “If I didn’t know better, I would think the two of you were making it up as you go along,” he spits.

Kira turns to face him fully, putting the sun at her back. “Ask what you will, then.” Her voice is soft.

“What are you hiding?” Ander asks, taking a step closer.

“What am I hiding?” Kira repeats. “Fear, and doubt, and a number of other failings that, though without malice, would make me an ill companion to this quest. And the answer to one question you do not yet know to ask.”

Another Druid half-answer. “What question is that?”

With the setting sun behind her, he can’t see her face, but he can hear her smile in her voice when she speaks. “You cheat in our game, young prince. Ask another.” She seems almost nonchalant, and it makes him burn with anger.

“What ulterior motive do you have?” Ander growls.

“None.” She shakes her head. “Perhaps a small one- to stay close to the last of my kind- but I don’t serve your enemies or hide my purpose the way you suggest.”

“What do you have planned for Amberle?” he asks. “Why her?”

Kira takes a breath, and sighs. “I plan for her to serve the Ellcrys, as she swore to when she became one of the Chosen. If another had taken her place as last of the Chosen, they would serve the same.”

“What about the Rover girl? Why did you bring her along?”

“The game is played in threes, Prince Ander,” Kira says, a faint scolding tone to her words. “You have asked all the questions I may answer tonight. In return, I ask: do you know where your doubt comes from?”

The question makes Ander blink in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You trust the evidence of your own eyes, to know that I am a Druid. And you trust the evidence of history, to know that as a Druid, I serve the good of the Four Lands.” She speaks more slowly, placing her words like a chess-player places pieces to secure checkmate. “You don’t doubt me. Who _do_ you doubt?”

She’s right, in a way. He can believe that Kira and Allanon will do everything in their power to save the Four Lands and restore the Ellcrys, that they’ll fight to the end and sacrifice whatever they have to in order to win. He doubts anyone else could fight as hard as they will. He doubts _he_ can.

“Be kinder to yourself,” Kira says quietly. “Your tests are yet to come.”

His frustration seems to have turned to a leaden lump, a slowly-cooling knot of shame in the pit of his stomach. “Thank you,” Ander says, despite himself. “You didn’t have to answer…”

“But I did. That is how the game is played.” Kira touches his shoulder. “Until tomorrow, young prince.”

“Good night, Lady Druid.” He gives her a nod before he turns to descend the steep slope toward the camp.

The hill is strewn with pine needles, and something in their scent and the cool wind helps clear Ander’s head. At the edge of camp, he looks back. The sky is a dark purple, broken by a few early stars, but enough light remains that the silhouettes of pine trees and two Druids are clear at the peak of the hill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're happy we're back, go thank tempest2004 for harassing me all summer long. I needed it, to be completely honest. This is for you, friend.

**Author's Note:**

> You can visit my tumblr account at baar-ur.tumblr.com. Thank you for reading!


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